The Betrothal of Éomer King
by MairaElleth
Summary: What happens when a wedding tradition pulls two people together? Will their lives be forever entwined and blessed? Rating changed to M due to adult situations.
1. Chapter 1

**_Early spring, 3020 third age_**

Lothíriel gazed around the crowded hall, leaning against the cool stone wall. It was twilight and the doors to the Merethrond were open to allow the early summer breeze into the crowded feast hall. Today had been her cousin Faramir's wedding to the White Lady of Rohan and it seemed that all inhabitants of both Gondor and Rohan had shown up for the grand affair. Lothíriel had not seen her cousin so happy and took part in the celebration with enthusiasm. But now, as the day wound down and after Lothíriel had danced with an uncountable number of men, she felt the need for a respite and time to get away from personal interactions. As Amrothos would say, Lothíriel was like the small rock crabs along the shoreline of their home; she would come out and enjoy the day but when she had reached her limit, back into her shell she would go.

Lothíriel looked around the room again, meeting the eyes of Amrothos. Her brother was laughing and seeming to have a wonderful time with some of the younger men of Rohan and a few of Imrahil's Swan knights. Almost as if he read her thoughts, Amrothos gave Lothíriel a knowing wink and tapped the brooch at the throat of his tunic. The brooch was shaped like a shell and Lothíriel rolled her eyes. Her brother knew her too well; almost to a fault. So with those thoughts fueling her, Lothíriel worked her way through the crowd, making for the gardens outside the Merethrond.

After being stopped to exchange pleasantries with several Lords and Ladies, Lothíriel finally made it out into the night air. The coolness of the early spring night was refreshing and Lothíriel could already feel herself relaxing. Without further thought, Lothíriel started walking through the early greenery and flowers, making her way to the outlook. She passed several couples hidden in the nooks and archways of the garden on her way and startled several from their amorous pursuits. She walked quickly past each couple she encountered, her cheeks burning as if she had been the one caught in the act. Thankfully though, Lothíriel soon walked out of the trained plants and shrubs to the white stone of the Outlook without further embarrassing encounters.

The Outlook was one of Lothíriel's favorite places in Minas Tirith. It gave Lothíriel a sense of freedom and a feeling of being closer to home when she looked out over the plains and on the city below. Though she could only see the wide ribbon of the Anduin, the sight of the water made the confines of the White City seem a little less tight. In Lothíriel's mind, nothing could compare to the sea breeze that would sweep up from the shores of Dol Amroth and blow through her father's palace, bringing with it the scent of salt and seaweed.

As her eyes sought out the horizon, Lothíriel did not notice the man standing upon the outlook until he turned toward her. She knew who it was instantly; the man's broad shoulders and flaxen hair only added to the powerful presence that was king Éomer of Rohan. She had met the man officially and had seen him several times in the past year, as she helped her cousin Faramir plan his wedding. But for all the times Lothíriel had been in the king's presence, she had yet to feel comfortable in his daunting aura. Lothíriel hesitated as the king studied her; his blue eyes were intense and his expression unreadable.

"My lord, forgive me for interrupting your solitude," Lothíriel felt heat rise to her cheeks at the man's continued gaze. She gave the king a small smile and turned to leave but turned back when the king spoke.

"You are welcome to share in this solitude, as you put it, Princess, for sometimes peace is better shared with a companion," The Rohir king's voice was deep and had a powerful ring that did not brook any argument. Though his voice held a note of seriousness, when Lothíriel looked up, the king's expression was open and friendly. He stepped a little to the side, giving Lothíriel a better place to stand next to him. Lothíriel nodded her thanks and stepped up to the wall of the outlook. She looked down upon the city and out onto the plain, hearing the familiar howl of a dog. Lothíriel sighed; her faithful companion, Huan, must be feeling the restrictions of society as well.

"That is an interesting sound; one might think you wished to escape the merriment of those in the hall," The Rohir king said, a note of humor in his rich voice. Lothíriel looked up at the man quickly, smiling when she saw the slight twinkle in the king's eye.

"I also note that you, my lord are out here as well," Lothíriel said, casting a fleeting smile at the king when she heard another lonesome howl. "I find that after some time, the gayety of the occasion and those around me drown out all my thoughts. I sometimes need a respite from those more easily joyful than I," Lothíriel added. "My brother, Amrothos, often likens me to a crab that retreats into its shell when it encounters something unpleasant,"

Lothíriel turned a little toward the king, noticing the puzzled expression on his face. He quickly noticed Lothíriel's scrutiny and a small smile spread across his face.

"I admit, I have not seen the creature of which you speak; I fear your brother's metaphor is lost on me," The king smiled again and for a moment, Lothíriel could not look away from the man's face. He was quite handsome, in a wild sort of way, and she wondered why she had never noticed before. The king must have noticed Lothíriel's prolonged silence, for his smile broadened somewhat and a roguish twinkle came into his eyes. Lothíriel immediately looked away, her face suddenly blazing.

_The wedding must be affecting me too; or the wine. _Lothíriel thought with chagrin. She chanced a glance back at the king and saw that he was still smiling. Thankfully, even from a distance, Huan came to Lothíriel's rescue, sending another howl into the night air.

"That is a lonely sound; if I were back in Rohan, I would be searching for the wolf responsible for that noise,"

"Well then I am certainly glad that we are not in Rohan, for that is my hound howling," Lothíriel looked up at the king, her eyes wide. The thought of anyone hunting and killing Huan made her heart drop like a stone. Her expression must have showed as much for the king of Rohan's eyes widened some.

"I did not know that noble ladies kept hounds as companions; I apologize if you think I meant your animal any harm,"

"No, my lord, you do not need to apologize; it's only that I raised Huan from a pup and he is very dear to me. The thought of his death caught me unawares. I am not usually so melancholic; the wedding has made me nostalgic," Lothíriel looked out over the city again, pressing her lips together tightly; she was rambling and doubted the king cared overmuch about her emotions. But when the king spoke again, he contradicted Lothíriel's previous thoughts.

"I understand feeling melancholic; it is not every day that your only sister marries. I admit, I was seeking this solitude else I drown my nostalgic thoughts in too much drink and be no use to my sister at all," The king of Rohan admitted, drawing the young woman's gaze upward.

"She will be alright, my lord; Faramir will take care of her," Lothíriel said, having great faith in her dearest cousin.

"You seem to have read my mind," the king said, after a short moment of silence. The young woman's astuteness was not lost on the man and he wondered if he was as transparent as he felt.

"When Elphir, my eldest brother was married, I felt the same way, even though I was yet a little girl," Lothíriel said, laughing to herself. "I was sure Alarwen was not going to take care of my brother and that he would hate being married. Thankfully, I was wrong," Lothíriel laughed, and looked up at the king. He was studying her with approval and Lothíriel was thankful for the darkness of the night to hide the blush that refused to leave her cheeks. The king must have seen Lothíriel's discomfort for a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. Lothíriel's mind raced for a safer topic; Huan howled again and Lothíriel spoke the first thought that came to mind.

"Elphir and Alarwen have a son who is nearly three and he loves Huan, my hound, to death. Huan tolerates him with great patience but it is often quite a sight when Alphir jumps upon him,"

There Lothíriel launched into a story of her nephew's latest debacles with Huan and how the toddler had spilled an inkwell upon the patient hound, and then led Huan through all the halls of their home. All the while, the king of Rohan listened in silence, bemused more by the woman than the story she told.

She certainly carried herself like the princess she was, but sometimes there was seriousness to her expression that one would almost call distant. From several of the flightier maidens of Gondor, that had flocked to him at the various functions and celebrations of his sister's wedding, Éomer had heard, in their opinions that Lothíriel was serious and a little stuck up when it came to society. And always as an afterthought, they would add that she had an unnatural attachment to animals, especially that great grey hound that was always at the Princess' heels. Éomer had recognized the cat-like undertone of malice in the words of the females about him but still wondered if their assessments of the Princess' personality were true. On their few previous social interactions, Éomer had noted that the Princess was always a little serious when she was around him but was always kind when spoken to, and always eager to help. Though he had not seen the hound that people spoke of, listening to the princess' story proved that fact to be true.

Éomer continued to study the Princess as she spoke, noticing, not for the first time, that she was quite beautiful. Her life next to the sea had given her skin a golden glow that made her dark hair stand out more strongly. She carried the same grey eyes as most of her family and her cousin Faramir, but hers were tinged with a green color that Éomer could not name. She was not overly tall either but her elegant frame and graceful curves gave credence to the fabled elven ancestress of her forefathers. Éomer had to admit that the Princess' looks alone would be enough to intimidate any man but coupled with her frequent solemn expression, she would certainly be thought unattainable by most. Now, especially tonight, as the Princess was dressed in an elegant gown of silver and midnight blue, Éomer could see why other females could feel threatened by Lothíriel.

_She would be a prized catch for any man._ Éomer thought, not noticing that the princess had fallen silent.

"Have I lost you, my lord?"

Lothíriel's voice pulled Éomer from his musings and he suddenly felt a little flustered.

"Please forgive me; I am not normally so easily distracted," Éomer covered, chagrin at himself rising. The king hoped the Princess could not see that she was the reason for his wandering thoughts.

"Well, if you were any of my brothers, you would have stopped me once you had become tired of my words. Speaking of the antics of small children and dogs is hardly exciting to most peoples," Lothíriel shot the king a serious glance but there was laughter in her eyes. Éomer smiled when he realized the Princess was teasing him and chuckled to himself. The Princess looked up at the king and smiled. It was a genuine expression and her smile was dazzling, even in the darkness. Éomer smiled back, stuffing down the errant butterfly that escaped his warrior's control and fluttered in his chest. He inwardly blamed the Mead he had consumed earlier for the less than masculine feeling and was about to excuse himself when he heard someone running through the gardens behind them. In an instant, his warrior instinct came to the fore and Éomer turned quickly to see who came to them.

"Lothíriel!" a voice called out from the gardens and the Princess turned as well, to see who called her name. Amrothos suddenly stumbled through an archway of greenery, having to stop to extricate himself from the vine that he had stumbled into. Then the Prince righted himself with as much decorum as a slightly inebriated man could manage and looked at Lothíriel.

"Lothíriel! They are about to do the Toss and Faramir wants you to be there!" Amrothos said, drawing a sound that Éomer would call a groan from the Princess. Amrothos then noticed the Rohir king standing next to Lothíriel and a grin broke out onto his face.

"I'm sure your sister would want to see you at the Toss as well, my lord," Amrothos said, his smile turning somewhat mischievous. Lothíriel recognized the look and walked to her brother before his excessive joviality hit its stride.

"You know I really do not want to do this, but for Faramir's sake, I will," Lothíriel said, linking her arm with her brother's. That only silenced her brother for a moment and Lothíriel had to stifle another groan as Amrothos smiled and beckoned to the king once again.

"Its tradition, my lord. And this will be the last time you see your sister as a…" Amrothos' words ended in a pained grunt as Lothíriel's elbow connected with her brother's ribs. Éomer did not know if he should be offended at the younger prince's cut off insinuations or laugh at Lothíriel's actions. The king chose to laugh, knowing the latter option would throw him back into his melancholic state of mind. The Princess must have heard Éomer chuckle, for she cast an apologetic look at the king as her brother led her away.

Within a few minutes, Amrothos and Lothíriel were working their way back through the crowded hall, making their way towards the dais. Upon the dais, Faramir and Éowyn stood hand in hand, casting each other meaningful looks. In Faramir's hand was a braided garter of green ribbons and Éowyn held a small bouquet of spring flowers. Faramir caught sight of his youngest two cousins and sent Amrothos and Lothíriel a beaming smile. He then leaned towards Éowyn, whispering something that caused her to smile in a way that Lothíriel would only call conspiratorial. After a few more moments of jostling and people yelling the couple their well-wishes, the count finally went down and the newlyweds threw their items into the crowd. As if Éowyn had done it intentionally, her bouquet flew through the air landing in Lothíriel's outstretched hands. A loud cheer rang out behind her and Lothíriel could not stifle a groan when Amrothos gave her his most irksome grin and pointed over her shoulder. When Lothíriel turned, none other than the king of Rohan was standing behind her, and in his hand, he held the braided green garter.

"It seems we have won the toss, Princess," The king of Rohan said, working the braided loop in his large hand. Lothíriel suddenly felt heat rush to her face, for she knew the other part of the tradition. The king of Rohan seemed to as well, and a self-satisfied smile turned up the corners of his mouth. He stepped closer to the Princess and gave her a conspiratorial wink. Then without further ado, Éomer leaned in, giving Lothíriel a kiss.

The flavor of honeyed mead upon the king's lips and the masculine scent rising from his skin made Lothíriel's head spin. She stood still, stunned and unable to think. Lothíriel could hear laughs and cheers as the king kissed her but she could not make herself care. Something about the king's lips upon hers drove every sensible thought from Lothíriel's head and made her legs feel like jelly. A strange feeling spiraled through Lothíriel, like she was falling from a great height; it was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. All too soon for Lothíriel's liking though, the kiss was ended and the king of Rohan leaned back from her. Lothíriel felt suddenly breathless and when she opened her eyes, the king's face was merely inches away. There was a strange gleam in the man's eyes and Lothíriel could almost feel the heat from his gaze.

"It was a pleasure, Princess," Éomer whispered in Lothíriel's ear. He then stepped all the way back, lifting Lothíriel's hand that held Éowyn's bouquet into the air. The Horselord cheered with the crowd, drawing Rohirric exclamations from several of his riders that stood close by. Lothíriel still felt breathless and her face flamed as all eyes turned upon her and the king.

"Your fates be forever entwined and blessed!" Faramir and Éowyn's voice rang over the din, yelling the familiar blessing to those who had won the toss. Lothíriel looked back to her cousin and she would have wagged a finger at the smug look Faramir gave her. But Lothíriel could not make her mind work fast enough to chastise her cousin, as her hand was still being held by the king of Rohan.

Lothíriel turned back to the king, feeling more and more conspicuous the longer he held her hand. But then another loud cheer rang up from the crowd and the sea of people parted for Faramir and Éowyn to run through. Éowyn, waved to her brother at the doors of the hall, then the newlyweds disappeared quickly into the night. There were cheers and many glasses rose to the new couple as they departed but as soon as the more vociferous of the well-wishers fell silent, the mood of the hall became instantly bittersweet.

Lothíriel stood in the silence, some sense finally making its way back into her mind, and with it, embarrassment quickly followed. Lothíriel chanced a look to her side, something akin to panic springing to her heart when she saw the king of Rohan still beside her. The king suddenly turned to Lothíriel, holding the braided garter out to her.

"A token, Princess," Éomer bowed slightly, a sudden intensity in his eyes. Lothíriel had no choice but to take the silken garter from the king's hands. The fire that had blazed in Lothíriel's face at the king's kiss returned full force and she looked away quickly, the panicky feeling growing inside her chest.

"It was a pleasure, my lord," Lothíriel said quickly, curtsying and turning away from the man with as much haste as was polite.

"The pleasure was all mine," Éomer whispered, wondering what he had done to scare the princess away.

* * *

Though Éomer wished to see his sister after she and Faramir returned from their honeymooning, he knew his people needed him and had left for Rohan the morning after Éowyn's nuptials. His company were all in a lighthearted mood and the traveling was easy. They made good time and that night, camped in a wide hollow next to the Anduin. Éomer was sitting outside his tent, watching the fire when a rider approached him.

"My lord, a messenger from Minas Tirith just arrived; he asked me to give you this message and he waits for your reply," The rider handed Éomer a leather-bound parchment and stepped back a discreet distance. The leather was embossed with a silver swan and as Éomer unwrapped the parchment, he found a single page, filled completely with flowing, efficient script. With a small amount of trepidation, he began to read.

_To Éomer, King of the Mark and trusted Ally of the Southern kingdom,_

_Greetings. I first must apologize for the unexpected nature of this missive, for it comes after the subtle inquiries of your lord Elfhelm and my liege-lord Elessar. They asked me to preface the coming request with that you merely take it into consideration; they only have your best interests at heart. The matter though, I am about to address involves one close to my heart, and I ask you to examine and meditate on this request before deciding your actions and to be wary of a rash decision. This request, though for now, secret, may be to your advantage, as the kingdoms of men recover from the War. I foresee it will foster a stronger tie of brotherhood between the peoples of Rohan and Gondor. _

_Your lord Elfhelm has mentioned from time to time that the house of Eorl is in dire straits, having only your sister, the lady Éowyn and you, to its name. It is a sad state, and I express my condolences again at the loss of your esteemed uncle and fellow king. War takes without regard and the losses of the recent fight are most bitter. Lord Elfhelm wishes life to the line of your family, for he feels it his burden to see that you flourish in your kingship. I ask you to regard his concern with peace and empathy, for he only desires what is best for you. King Elessar as well, voiced nigh on the same concerns for you and your father's house, but out of brotherly love and a desire for you to experience the same joy he has now. _

_If you have not already guessed at the drawn out purpose of this missive, I will tell you now. _

_My daughter, Lothíriel, is of an age to marry and none have spoken for her. I observed your- interactions- with her at your lady sister's wedding. You both seemed to have found an understanding in each other, at least to the point of being comfortable acquaintances. But I will say, though it would pain me to see my only daughter leave me, that it was my own mind that thought up this proposal before the lords Elfhelm and Elessar spoke to me. It is my intention to offer you my daughter's hand. This may seem abrupt and repulsive to you, for I know in the Mark, you more often than not, wed for love but I ask you to consider the possibility. Loving relationships start on a foundation of respect and honesty, and I know my daughter thinks highly of you in the short time she has known you. I as well, have seen the strength of your character and know that you would provide a stable home for my daughter. _

_One stipulation I will add, for my love for my only daughter constrains me to write this. I am going to approach her privately and tell her of this possible arrangement, as is only right. If she is amenable to the terms, we will meet sometime and go over further arrangements. If she refuses though, be it out of pure obstinacy or even out of her summation of your character, I will not force her to follow through with the marriage. By the time this letter reaches you, I will have already spoken to her. If you receive a letter in my hand soon after this one, it will only be her refusal and I will trouble you no longer. But if you are agreeable to the terms, I ask that you reply in your own hand as hastily as is possible and we will proceed with arraignments. I charged the messenger to stay until he received your reply and I hope he is welcome among your men for his short stay. _

_Again, I thank you for entertaining this missive and apologize if it offends your better judgment. Please reply without delay. _

_Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth and advisor to the King of the Reunited kingdom._

Éomer read the letter again, wondering if the flickering flames had caused him to misread the letter's intent. But the words remained the same as they had been before and he let out a tense breath. After a few moments of silence, the memory of kissing the Princess floated to Éomer's mind and he smiled. He knew that to base his decision solely on their kiss would be unwise, but Éomer could not stop the thought that it would be nice to kiss the princess again. Shaking his head, Éomer sat in silence for a few more moments, weighing the choice before him. He briefly wondered if he should ask the opinion of Elfhelm, as he was his chief advisor but Éomer knew what the older man would say. Letting out a deep breath, Éomer knew his decision. He only hoped he was not acting rashly, as Imrahil had cautioned but the Princess' kiss floated back to memory and he felt a strange peace.

"Elfhelm," Éomer called. The older man was instantly at Éomer's side and he wondered if he already knew what weighty decision Éomer had made.

"Find me a quill and parchment,"

* * *

Lothíriel knocked upon her father's study, having read his hand-written note that he had placed upon her dresser sometime earlier that morning. Lothíriel had not heard him enter her room but their house in Minas Tirith was unfamiliar to Lothíriel and she was not used to its sounds. And she had gotten to bed late because of Faramir's wedding the night before so she had been asleep as one dead.

"Come in," Imrahil called. Lothíriel opened the door quietly, peeking around the door.

"You wished to see me father?"

"Yes, yes. Come, sit down," Imrahil rose from his desk, motioning to the wide window seat at the end of the small room. Lothíriel sat with some trepidation, having noticed the strange light in her father's eyes. Imrahil sat down across from Lothíriel, studying his daughter.

"You look so much like your mother," Imrahil said, his voice quiet. Lothíriel looked at her father carefully. She then noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and wondered if he had slept at all the past night.

"Father, are you well? You look tired," Lothíriel asked, laying her hand upon Imrahil's arm.

"I am fine, daughter; I only have much on my mind," Imrahil patted Lothíriel's hand, taking a deep breath. He looked up then and his expression was serious.

"I wanted to talk to you because I want to tell you of a matter that could affect your future," Imrahil took another deep breath then plunged onward. "I have written to the king of Rohan to ask him to consider an arranged marriage. That marriage would be to you, Lothíriel," Imrahil's grip became tight upon Lothíriel's hand and she was glad for his touch for it seemed to be the only thing keeping her upon her seat.

"You wish for me to marry the King of Rohan?" Lothíriel asked, her voice a whisper. Shock was still rippling through her body and she suddenly felt like her world had been tilted on its axis. For a moment, she wondered if her father had suddenly decided to become a jokester like Amrothos but when she looked into his eyes, she knew he was telling the truth.

"I am sorry for the abruptness of this request but your marriage in general has been on my mind recently and I only wish for you to be taken care of and provided for with a good husband,"

"And the king of Rohan is your first choice?" Lothíriel asked, working hard to keep the incredulous edge off her voice. Imrahil nodded.

"The king, Éomer, is a strong man, in both body and conviction. In his short reign, I have seen his mettle tested and he has come away stronger. And though he is prone to strong temper, his morals are upright. This union would also strengthen the ties between Gondor and Rohan; a thing that both kingdoms need desperately," Imrahil paused, and a small smile came to his face. "But as a father, I will tell you that it is hard for me to willingly relinquish you to any man, for I may always find some way they have fallen short in their care of you," Imrahil looked up at Lothíriel and there was a smile in his eyes.

"But you find the king to be the one you would choose for me?" Lothíriel asked, her mind still not comprehending what her father just said. Imrahil smiled at Lothíriel again, seeing the strain and confusion in her eyes.

"One more thing I must tell you, that I also told the king of Rohan: If you, Lothíriel, find this completely repugnant to you, or have found Éomer's character lacking, you can refuse and the matter will never be brought up again," Imrahil gave Lothíriel's hand a squeeze and stood. "There is a copy of the letter I wrote upon my desk, if you wish to read it. I will give you some time to think it over," Imrahil then left, quietly shutting his study door. Lothíriel sat upon the window seat for some time, her mind mulling over what her father had told her. After a while, she walked over to her father's desk, finding the copy of the letter. She walked back to the window seat, reading the letter by the light of the early afternoon sun. Everything her father had told her was mirrored in the letter.

"He wishes for me to marry the king but gave me the chance to refuse," Lothíriel mused out loud, rolling the letter in between her hands. She was baffled by her father's choice but at the same time saw the political wisdom in an arranged marriage. Lothíriel did not know nearly as much as she would like about the king of Rohan, but that was only because they had little in common and were rarely in the same place at the same time. And with the War wounds only beginning to heal in both countries, there had been little time for courtly socializations. But then, Lothíriel thought of the king's piercing blue eyes and the easy way he had smiled at her when they spoke. She also remembered the gleam of admiration in his eyes after he had kissed her. If marriage was decided upon looks, Lothíriel knew that she could be shallow enough to choose the king of Rohan. He was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.

Then again, Éomer, king or not, was a man, and Lothíriel had overheard enough of her brother's crude jesting to know where the majority of men's thoughts lay. The thought of a physical relationship with a man she hardly knew, sent a spiral of terror through Lothíriel and she crumpled the letter in her hands. Handsome or not, the thought of baring herself, body and soul, to the man set Lothíriel to quaking.

"That is not all a marriage is founded on; stop being silly," Lothíriel scolded herself, taking a deep breath and pushing her fearsome thoughts away. "What are the pros that I know?" Lothíriel asked herself, trying to think logically.

"It would foster good relations between our two kingdoms. I would be able to help him lead his people and be a support to him. He is a strong man with convictions and I know he will care for me well," Lothíriel stopped, realizing she was pacing the floor.

"And the cons are: I do not know the man, I will be leagues from my family and the only home I've ever known, and…" Lothíriel stopped, not wanting to think of anything else. With a sigh, she sat back on the window seat. She sighed again, watching all the comings and goings of their modest, Minas Tirith home. Amrothos was walking about the courtyard, followed by Lothíriel's shaggy hound, Huan. Lothíriel absently wondered if the hound had lost interest in waiting for her to return to her room where she had left him earlier. Amrothos was Huan's next favorite after Lothíriel and she laughed as she watched her brother try to shoo the hound away. With a sudden clarity, Lothíriel knew what her decision would be. Rising, she walked out of the study to find her father.

* * *

A/N: I know Éomer and Lothíriel's story has been done numerous times and in numerous ways. I just had to get this little bee out of my bonnet, so to speak, and have a swing at my version of their story. They are just too fun not to write about. :)


	2. Chapter 2

_Lothíriel, princess of Dol Amroth and esteemed lady,_

_I write to you to tell you of my involvement in this Southern campaign; I know that you would have already concluded that I could not leave Aragorn alone in this task, even in this short rest from war. As my betrothed, you should read in my own hand that I am entering a situation of great risk, and Béma knows, I fully intend to return from this venture and honor our agreement to make you my wife. _

_Kindest regards and loyalty,_

_Éomer, king of the Mark_

* * *

_To Éomer, king of the Mark and my betrothed, _

_Yes, you guessed rightly that I had already known of your involvement in the Southern campaigns; father told me as soon as Elessar had called up the Oath of Eorl. I have no doubt that you and your men will fight valiantly and return home victorious. I only wish that war could be over for all the land, and that we all could live in peace. _

_Elphir once said that news of home during times of war is like the finest and most precious pearls drawn from the depths of the ocean. For all his serious ways, Elphir can be quite poetic and I think you would agree. Your Lady Sister sent me a missive some time ago, telling me all that she and Faramir were doing in their new home. It sounds as if she has her household organized like a regiment of troops; they all seem to be quick and effective at what they do. It makes me laugh to think of your sister making house after her great feats of battle, but there is a season for everything, as my Aunt Ivriniel would say. _

_My sister by marriage has warned me to guard my words when I write to you, for it is often easier to say a thing in ink that you would not say to a person's face. I tend to agree with her, but seeing as we are betrothed, I will not hold back on even the most mundane of things. I pray you are faring well and ask that you send my greetings to my father and brothers if you chance to see them. _

_With warm regards, _

_Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth_

* * *

_Lothíriel, my betrothed, _

_Your letter came at no better time, for we had just finished our first skirmish, and though only a few of our men fell, it was a bitter fight and all hearts have taken a wound. I chanced to see your lord father and brothers and they are all well, though I had not the time to speak with them. Truly, your letter was a balm for my weariness, and though the hour is late, I could not rest til' I returned your word._

_Your sister in law seems to have some insight into this matter and I sense wisdom in her though I do not know the woman. But as you said before, we are betrothed, and we should feel a freedom to voice our thoughts, whatever they may be. For now though, I have not a thought to write to you that would make any sense. Though I was raised as a warrior, I have never been able to sensibly tell all that goes through my mind during battle. Battle is a dark place and I pray to Béma that you never have to raise a sword and fight. It nearly broke me, body and soul, to see my sister close to death on the fields of the Pelennor; since that time, the thought of women in battle has repulsed me. Not in the way boorish men say that the fairer sex is only there for breeding and house making, but it repulses me because we as men should be the ones to fight in your steads and cherish you always. I apologize for my weighty thoughts; my mind and pen have run away with me. _

_I trust you are well._

_Loyally yours, _

_Éomer, king_

* * *

_Éomer, _

_I have finally received your latest missive; the Valar must have guided our messengers to the point that our letters came precisely when needed. It grieves my soul to hear my brothers recount their days of war, so I have a little knowledge of what you feel. Elphir was always careful with his words, for he did not want to trouble me but Erchirion held nothing back. His words when he returned from war were often dark and brooding, and he only got better after telling all that he saw, down to the smallest detail. I admit that one night, I caught him at a weak moment and we sat in the palace kitchens and wept together as he told me all that he had seen. I cannot imagine how men can return from war unchanged, even a little bit. Since that time, Erchirion has become more like his old self, though sometimes I see a shadow pass over his eyes. _

_I wish after this time of war that you could stay as a guest in my father's halls, so that we might speak, face to face. I will admit that thinking of seeing you ties my stomach in knots but that is normal, I think. I have not received any recent news from my father, but I am assuming he is well. He hinted in his last missive that he wished for a time of peace and rest after these battles were through. I only hope that this return to war will be the last for a very long time. _

_Now, I am about to be unabashedly brazen, and I apologize if I offend your finer sensibilities but I often think of our kiss at your sister's wedding. I tell you this because I hope you often think of it too. I must sound like an imbecile to you at this moment. I doubt there are many women out in the world who asks a man they barely know if they think of one shared kiss but I only said it to maybe give you something light to think of during the dark times. I claim no certain skill at kissing but I hope it is an enjoyable memory for you. If my Aunt were to read this, she would certainly lock me up and brand me a brazen minx and never let me into society again. Or she would insist I marry you straight away to keep me from my wandering ways. I laugh at my own words, for as I read them over again, I see my faltering attempts at flirtations and they are sorely lacking in skill. _

_I hope you do not think me flighty and that I have poor taste; I only hoped to give you a little dose of the lightheartedness that everyone needs from time to time. _

_Warmest regards,_

_Lothíriel_

* * *

_Lothíriel, _

_I apologize that it has been some time since my last missive. You certainly brightened my countenance when I read your final words of your last letter; I wonder if my face betrayed me, for Éothain was sitting with me at the time and he gave me the most keen of looks and tried to wrend the parchment from my hand. As you can see, we all are in better spirits and happy to be done with this war. It was quick and, Béma be praised, I can count on one hand the men I lost. It is an undoubted miracle that so few fell and I am deeply grateful for whatever divine providence led our steps. _

_Your lord father approached me and asked that I be a guest in his house for a time of festivities when we reach Dol Amroth. I could not refuse, especially remembering your wish to speak with one another face to face. I will save any abundance of words for when we meet again._

_One final thing, I might add: your kiss has never left me since the night of Éowyn's wedding. _

_Loyally yours,_

_Éomer_

* * *

**_July, 3020, third age_**

"Princess, the elven envoy is about to arrive; will you be greeting them personally?"

Lothíriel's head jerked upright, her mind still foggy with sleep. She could not recall what day it was and what she was supposed to be doing. Huan, her faithful hound, lifted his shaggy head from the floor, looking behind Lothíriel lazily. Lothíriel looked to the door where the voice had come from, seeing the head butler of the house.

"I am sorry, Berion, you caught me unawares. What did you say?" Lothíriel sat up straighter, trying with all her might to look like she had not fallen asleep. Berion seemed not to notice, or chose not to notice Lothíriel's ruffled state and calmly repeated his message.

"The elven envoy is nearly here; will you be greeting them?"

"Yes; yes I will greet them!" Lothíriel's heart sped up a little as excitement ran through her. She stood from her seat, smoothing out any wrinkles in her gown. Berion nodded and walked away on silent feet, leaving the Princess to her last-minute ministrations. Lothíriel stopped before the large, full length glass mirror in her room, tucking back the few errant strands of her dark hair that had escaped the long braid down her back and shaking out any remaining wrinkles in her gown that she saw. With a snap of her fingers, Huan lumbered off the floor and Lothíriel breezed out of her chamber with the shaggy hound on her heels.

The elven envoy consisted of none other than the famed Legolas Greenleaf and several other elves that had followed the fair Prince to renew the lands of Ithilien. Lothíriel never tired of Elven Company but her excitement stemmed from something more. The elves had acted as scouts and front-runners to the mustered forces of the west; Lothíriel's father and brothers would soon be home.

King Elessar had called upon the forces of Gondor and Rohan to begin the purge of the southern lands of all who still kept league with the Shadow. Barely a month after Faramir and Éowyn's wedding, a band of Corsair pirates had attacked a garrison of Gondor along the southern coast. Elessar had called upon the Oath of Eorl and the kings of the west had ridden forth and purged the southern coasts of the remaining Corsair threat. It had been a short campaign, compared to the long War against the Shadow but it had been victorious. Few that defied the crown were left and any others that had survived were scattered too far from one another to pose any threat. Just a fortnight ago, Imrahil had sent a letter to Lothíriel, telling her to make the palace ready for the stay of the kings of the north. They were to have a time of feasting and gladness after this short return to war, and provide a respite for those who had marched so far from home. In his letter, Imrahil had also stated that a letter had also gone to the court of Minas Tirith and that the Queen and her escort would arrive shortly after they did, followed by Faramir and Éowyn.

As soon as Lothíriel had read the whole of the letter, she had run down to the palace's large kitchen, bringing as many servants as she could find in her wake. She had then read the letter to the staff, sending a buzz of excitement through many of the younger of the servants. The palace of Dol Amroth was by no means in disrepair, but when hosting two kings, a queen, various nobles, and an envoy of elves, there was much to do to make the place presentable. What had followed had been some of the busiest two weeks of Lothíriel's life. She had spent many late nights in her father's study, pouring over ideas for festivities, writing letters to merchants and farmers, and all the while seeing to the everyday tasks of her father's fiefdom. As it was, Dol Amroth's summer festival was to start a week after the guests arrived and Lothíriel was inundated with requests relating to the festival as well. All in all, the past weeks had served to exhaust the Princess; that was why Berion had found her asleep upon the balcony off her chambers. She had sought out the quiet of her rooms for a short rest in the middle of the afternoon, only to be lulled to sleep by the warm sea breeze rising from the shore below.

Even now, as Lothíriel stood in the palace courtyard, she self-consciously smoothed back her hair again, hoping her previous state of sleep did not show. Huan sat next to her in calm silence, his large head at her elbow. Lothíriel dropped her hand to the hound's head, absently rubbing Huan's ears. The large canine's presence was always calming to Lothíriel, and by the time she heard the clatter of hooves outside the gates, she was in a calmer state of mind. Lothíriel smiled as two horses trotted into the courtyard, followed by a handful of elves. Though their entrance lacked pomp, there was no mistaking the grace and power of the elves before her.

"_Mae govannen, _Prince Legolas," Lothíriel said as the elven Prince dismounted. A bright smile flashed on the Prince's face and he took Lothíriel's hand and leaned in to brush a chaste kiss upon her cheek.

"Well met indeed, Princess," Legolas beamed, dropping a friendly hand upon Huan's head. The hound's tail wagged as the elf rubbed his ears, his long face breaking into a feral grin. Legolas smiled at the hound then turned back to Lothíriel.

"Your lord father tasked me to make sure that you are well and to tell you that he misses you and will be home in less than a day. I asked your brothers if they had any messages to send to you but they were less than verbose," The elven Prince smiled and Lothíriel could not stifle a laugh.

"Amrothos though, did ask me to make sure you had stocked his favorite ale, in preparation for the coming festivities,"

"Well then my brother will not be disappointed, for I know him too well and have ordered some just for him," Lothíriel could not help but smile, for the elven Prince's happiness was infectious.

"I have grooms for your horses and there are servants to lead your people to the chambers provided for them if you wish. We also have a light meal set out for any who are hungry," Lothíriel added, smiling once again at the Prince.

"You have my thanks, Princess," Legolas then turned to his people, saying something so quickly in elvish that Lothíriel's rudimentary knowledge of the language could not understand. The second elf that had ridden next to Legolas finally dismounted at the Prince's words. The elf's expression was anything but happy and there was a deep-seated sorrow in his green eyes. That elf turned his green eyes upon the princess, making her feel as tiny as an insect in his dour gaze. But to her surprise, the elf nodded in respect to the princess, then headed up the group of elves to follow the servant into the palace. Lothíriel did not realize she had been holding her breath until she let out a long sigh. She could never hope to understand the elven race and she knew she was still a child in their eyes; playing the hostess to the elves was a daunting task for one so young in their reckoning.

"I apologize forSaerdartha, my kinsman," Legolas suddenly spoke at Lothíriel's side. Lothíriel nearly jumped with surprise at the elven Prince's voice but she recovered quickly.

"He is certainly intimidating," Lothíriel said, not sure she wanted to know the reason for the dour elf's harsh expression. The Elven Prince next to Lothíriel sighed.

"He has chosen a hard path in life and I fear he has many long, joyless years ahead of him. He was the captain of my father's guard when he lived in Eryn Lasgalen but he traveled from there during the War of the Ring and has not returned since. He agreed to be my captain, but only because his soul could not stand the inactivity of peace,"

Lothíriel looked at the elven Prince, noticing that his eyes seemed almost unfocused, as if he looked at something far away. Then the expression was gone and Legolas smiled again.

"But let us not dwell on things so melancholic. This is a time for celebration. Tell me, what have you in store for us?"

* * *

Lothíriel sat at her vanity mirror, tiredly brushing through her hair. She had dismissed her maid after the evening meal and had stayed up late, listening to the news that the elves brought. They spoke of the endless sea of sand that was Harad and of the bright colors worn by the people of Umbar and all the strange animals they had seen. Legolas and his elves had served as mostly scouts to the army of the west, and they had seen many things that Lothíriel could only imagine. They did not speak of the battles though, telling Lothíriel that they would be discussed at length and all would tire of them before long. After the elves had spoken of their travels, many left the great hall, content to wander down to the shore of the beach or to contemplate the stars out in the gardens. Legolas and his dour kinsman had stayed and talked with Lothíriel for a time until she nearly nodded off and then politely excused herself. There would be plenty of nights where she could listen to the stories of elves but tonight she needed her rest. So with a polite goodnight to the elves, and a quiet word to Huan, Lothíriel had sleepily headed for her rooms.

The candle upon Lothíriel's vanity sputtered, making the princess jump. She did not know how long she had been sitting in her thoughts but her brush had long been still, and Huan was fully asleep upon the cushion that served as his bed. Sometimes, Lothíriel envied the ease at which the great hound slumbered, unaware of the cares of the world around him. With a small smile, Lothíriel reasoned that was why she loved the animals in her care so much.

Lothíriel pulled out a drawer of the vanity, putting her brush inside without much care. As she did though, a flash of green silk ribbons caught her eye. It was Éowyn's wedding garter that the king of Rohan had given to Lothíriel. Underneath the silken ribbons was a stack of well-worn parchments. Lothíriel could almost recite the words contained on the pages by heart. She had kept the letters that Éomer had sent her during his time in the south and she had read each one over several times. She pulled out Éomer's last letter, her eyes falling to his final line.

_… __Your kiss has never left me…_

Butterflies welled up in Lothíriel's chest and she felt her cheeks burn. Why had she been so forward with the man? Now she would face him the next day and she did not know what he expected of her. Would he want another kiss? But then another thought still Lothíriel's mind and she sighed in relief; their betrothal had yet to be officially announced and there was still the papers to be signed and witnesses to be found. And then they would be announced before the people and the courts and then all the festivities would have to be planned…

Lothíriel felt her mind running away with her and she suddenly realized that she was more nervous about her betrothal to the intimidating king than she thought. But then there was that kiss…

Lothíriel shook her head, and stood quickly, shutting the vanity drawer with a little too much fervor, making Huan twitch in his sleep. Charging herself not to think of another vexing thing, Lothíriel blew out her candle and went to sleep.

* * *

Lothíriel was awake when her maid knocked at her chamber door. She had been awake for some time, staring enviously at Huan, who still slumbered on the floor. Lothíriel had not slept well all night and could not shake the butterflies that caused her stomach to twist whenever she thought of the coming day.

"You're up early, my princess," Lothíriel's maid, Fingwen, said her tone a little too cheerful for Lothíriel's taste. Lothíriel felt a retort rising to her lips but she bit her tongue. Causing her maid undue distress was not the way to start her day. Huan lifted his large head lazily at Fingwen's chirpy voice, yawning at the maid disinterestedly. Lothíriel did not share Huan's easy mood and found herself gritting her teeth at Fingwen's chatter.

"I've thought of a most lovely arraignment of braids for your hair, m'lady. You will look absolutely stunning when the kings and lords return," Fingwen took hold of Lothíriel's arm, pulling her gently from the bed and onto the vanity stool. Within a short amount of time, Fingwen had braided Lothíriel's hair into an elaborate knot at the base of her neck.

"There. You look beautiful, m'lady," Fingwen stood back for a moment, admiring her work, then went right back to business. "I have a gown picked out just for today," Fingwen practically skipped to Lothíriel's cedar wardrobe, pulling a sea-green gown from the massive wooden closet.

"This color will bring out your eyes and make your hair look like a Raven's wing,"

"What makes you so excited this morning?" Lothíriel finally asked, trying her best to sound civil. Fingwen looked at Lothíriel and laughed, as if the Princess should know the reason for her cheerfulness.

"You want to look your best when the men come marching home, don't you?" Fingwen asked, a sly look coming into her eye. "And I hear the King of Rohan is quite a sight in his armor," Fingwen could not hold in a giggle as Lothíriel shot her a dark look. Thankfully, the maid remained quiet as she helped Lothíriel finish dressing, and the Princess was soon out the door, Huan faithfully on her heels.

* * *

Éomer sat back in his saddle, taking in the countryside about him. They were nearly to the outskirts of the city surrounding Dol Amroth and he finally felt the tight coil of vigilance in the pit of his stomach start to unwind. Though he had been a warrior for the better part of his life, Éomer had come to appreciate the peace that came after Sauron's defeat. He would never abandon Gondor's call for aid but when the request had come, Éomer had found it hard to call the muster. It caused the king no small amount of guilt when he called warriors from their families when his people were still recovering from such great losses from the War. But Rohan's people were a proud folk, and even for his misgivings, Éomer could not deny that his people would stand with him until the day he died. Thankfully, this campaign had been short and they had suffered little loss. He had been afraid that he would lose many of his men in the south, and on one of his more troubling nights, he had written a letter to Lothíriel, telling her things that troubled him. Now as he rode towards her home, doubt assailed Éomer. Did Lothíriel think him less a man because he had confided his doubts in her?

"You seem troubled, brother,"

Éomer looked to his side; Aragorn, King Elessar, was studying him with his keen grey eyes. Éomer knew there was little he could hide from his Battle-brother and friend but today he did not allow the Ranger-king into his thoughts.

"I am just thinking of my people, that is all," Éomer smiled at Aragorn, hoping the king would abandon his questions for now. Aragorn indeed, seemed to pick up on Éomer's mood and dropped any further questions he might have asked the younger king. There was a moment of companionable silence before Aragorn spoke again.

"You will enjoy the palace of Dol Amroth. It is a restful place and Imrahil has done much to make it so. I hear also that Imrahil has festivities planned to lighten our hearts and those of the men we command. It will be a glad time. My lady wife will be there," Aragorn said, a secret smile crossing his face. "And Faramir and Éowyn as well," The king added, almost as an afterthought. Éomer smiled with his friend, though he envied the older man in that aspect. There would be a loving embrace and a warm bed to greet the king upon their arrival. Technically, Éomer did have a woman to go to in Dol Amroth, though he knew that he could not and would not treat the Princess like a common tavern wench. She was a Princess, and she was his betrothed. He would not shame her by taking liberties, as much as he ached for a tender touch.

A shout went up from the head of the column, drawing Éomer out of his thoughts. The Sea-ward tower had been spotted, meaning they were soon within the city of Dol Amroth. Éomer shifted in his saddle, excited to be nearing food and rest in spite of the swirling doubts in his heart. He missed his land and people but Meduseld was a lonely place without his sister and uncle and Éomer often found himself longing for the comfort of friendship. So with his previously serious thoughts pushed to the back of his mind, Éomer signaled his guard, and after a quick word with his captain, Éothain, about the construction of their men's camp, he rode to the head of the column. Aragorn and his men followed suit, each king pulling their horses to ride abreast of Prince Imrahil. Imrahil's son's rode behind him; the older two nodded at Éomer respectfully but Amrothos, the younger, smiled at him mischievously. Éomer did not doubt that the brothers knew of the arrangement between him and Lothíriel but they had all kept silent and not let on what they knew. Amrothos though, had kept a running dialogue with the king throughout their journey home, and Éomer guessed that the youngest prince was sounding him out and measuring him up. He had seen at Éowyn's wedding that Amrothos and Lothíriel were close to one another and Éomer had no doubt that Amrothos was weighing him in the balance to test his worth.

"My lord, I hope you are enjoying the scenery of my father's land. It is certainly a sight for sore eyes," Amrothos said, his tone innocent.

"It is far different from the Riddermark, but it is beautiful in its own right," Éomer answered, still uncertain where the young prince was heading. He knew that Imrahil's youngest son was an infamous jokester and had often gotten himself and several others in trouble because of his antics.

"I cannot say that I have seen the plains of Rohan but I hear they are beautiful as well. My sister has read several books on your lands and she is quite versed in animal lore; perhaps you can test her knowledge sometime?" Amrothos threw the king a jaunty smile despite the sudden mutterings of his older brothers beside him.

"Well, then I shall have to speak to the Princess, if she is versed in the history of the Riddermark," Éomer said, calling the younger man's bluff. Amrothos' smile did not waiver though and Éomer wondered if he had given the younger man exactly what he wanted. Éomer then wondered how such a lordly and oftentimes dour man as Imrahil could have such a jokester as a son.

"Please forgive my youngest son's jesting. He's had a penchant for it all his life and I often forget that he can be taxing to ones not used to his lighthearted ways,"

Éomer looked to his side, meeting the gaze of Imrahil. The man had an apologetic smile on his face though he did not seem overly troubled by Amrothos' chatter.

"A light heart is not always a bad thing," Éomer said, feeling partially responsible for the younger Prince's reprimand.

"No, no it is not," Imrahil said, his expression becoming inward and his face becoming more serious. Something about that expression sparked a memory in Éomer's mind and he could not stop the sudden question springing to his lips.

"Does the Princess take after you?" Éomer asked, ignoring the small snicker he heard behind him. Imrahil as well, seemed unperturbed by his youngest son and looked deep in thought but not perturbed that Éomer had asked about his daughter so casually. But, the two men had an understanding, and Éomer knew that Imrahil wished for the Horselord to know his daughter if they were to be married.

"Lothíriel is much like me, you could say. She was always very serious as a child and had few friends outside of her brothers and cousins; unless of course you count the various animals she adopted over the years," Imrahil stopped for a moment, a smile coming to his face. Éomer waited in silence, his curiosity suddenly piqued.

"Her seriousness is often taken as a lack of personality, but she has quite the character when you get to know her. Even as her father, there are still depths to her that I have never seen, and may never see ere my days are done. She was born an old soul, as my sister Ivriniel would say," Imrahil smiled. "I fear the poor girl's ears are burning with all the talk of her," Imrahil said abruptly, effectively ending the conversation, leaving Éomer to wonder what "talk" was going around about the princess. Éomer would have been content to muse on the Prince's words but they were suddenly within the city, leaving the king no time for thought.

Crowds lined the sides of the street, filling the air with cheers and well-wishes. Young women and children leaned out of upper windows and over the edges of the flat roofs of their homes, throwing flowers and petals down on the returning men. Several of the bolder young ladies chanced darting up to the riders, tucking sprigs of flowers into their saddles or the men's outstretched hands. None dared venture toward Éomer though, but that was just as well, he thought. He did not want Imrahil to think that he took his betrothal lightly.

Upon glancing over his shoulder, Éomer saw that Imrahil's two unmarried sons, Erchirion and Amrothos, had nearly an armload of flowers and at one point Amrothos leaned from his saddle and kissed a maiden bold enough to return the gesture. Envy flared so quickly in the horse lord's soul that it took him by surprise. Éomer looked away from the young Prince, stuffing his childish emotion far away to the back of his mind. He was the King of the Mark now, and betrothed to a Princess. He was no longer a soldier and not a young prince who did not carry the weight of a realm on his shoulders. Éomer suddenly felt his mood souring and his expression became like a thundercloud.

It was a great relief to Éomer when they came to the road that led to Imrahil's palace; it was a little more peaceful, for there were citrus groves and vineyards separating the palace from the city proper. They traveled in silence for a short time, until a loud cheer rose up from behind Éomer.

"You are welcome to join in our race, my lord!" Amrothos' voice sounded behind Éomer and the king turned quickly. Amrothos spurred his horse forward, cutting around the kings and galloping down the road. Erchirion and Elphir followed their younger brother, their serious faces splitting into competitive smiles. Éomer watched the princes go, his fingers twitching at Firefoot's reins. Imrahil looked over at the young king and smiled.

"Every time we have returned from a time away from home, my sons will race from the old citrus tree home," Imrahil pointed slightly behind the moving column, to a knarled tree barely off the road. Then Imrahil urged his horse forward, his face alight with the prospect of home. The challenge of a race was too much to pass up and as the walls of Dol Amroth and the Sea-ward tower rose to greet them, Éomer pressed his heels to Firefoot's flanks and the warhorse burst into a gallop within the space of a breath. Éomer felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as he moved with Firefoot, leaning into the horse's neck as the wind whipped his hair back. He had passed Imrahil within five strides of his warhorse, and now Éomer was gaining with the three princes ahead of him.

It was only a matter of a minute when Éomer and Firefoot caught up with the three princes. Their horses were smaller and quick but they could not compete against the pure muscle of Firefoot that shot the stallion towards them. Amrothos looked over his shoulder at the pounding of hooves and let out a whoop when he spotted Éomer. The competitive streak in Éomer ran a mile wide, and he could not help but utter a ruthless laugh as he pulled around the two older princes and came abreast of Amrothos. The young prince's face was alight with glee and he nudged his mount forward as a horn-call came from the palace walls. Éomer looked ahead, seeing the tall gates of the palace opening. He nudged Firefoot once more, bursting through the gates of Dol Amroth, still abreast of Amrothos.

"That was a fine race, my lord," Amrothos yelled, slightly out of breath. Éomer remained silent, letting Firefoot slow as they gained the center of the courtyard. Amrothos had already dismounted and when Éomer looked to find him, the young prince was hugging a young woman. Beside the young woman sat a shaggy, grey hound. The hound's head was level with the young woman's elbow and he studied Éomer with alert eyes.

"You remember my sister, my lord?" Amrothos said, pulling the young woman forward with an impish smile; Éomer watched as the young woman's eyes widened and her face became serious.

"Welcome, my lord king," The princess said, looking up at Éomer quickly. Éomer only nodded, for he could not take his eyes off the princess. She was stunning in a sea-green gown, making her strange grey eyes look greener and her hair jet-black. Éomer felt like kicking himself, for he could not get a sensible word to come out of his mouth. Thankfully, the Princess saved him from further words.

"I have grooms to show you to the stables; I know that you and your men like to see after your own steeds but there are several grooms that are ready to assist you if you so desire," Lothíriel extended an elegant hand toward a wizened man, dressed in the garb of a Farrier. The man bowed to Éomer as best as his aged back could bend.

"Our services are at your command, my lord," The old man said, his voice creaky with age. Éomer nodded his thanks at the man, dismounting Firefoot. Having regained some of his wits, Éomer walked up to the Princess, extending a hand.

"It is an honor once again, Princess. I thank you for your hosting and provision," Éomer did a short bow, taking Lothíriel's hand in his own and brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "And I thank you for your letters, and kind words," Éomer said quietly, not missing the blush that rose to the Princess' cheeks. The hound at the princess' side let out a low growl but fell silent with a quick gesture from the Princess. Éomer smiled at the princess again and saw that her blush deepened though her face remained impassive. Éomer was searching for something else to say when Firefoot snorted in his ear.

"It seems your stallion thinks it is time for his food and rest," The Princess said, an uncomfortable silence falling between her and the king. Just as Lothíriel felt she was going to wring her hands off because of nerves, the sudden clatter of hooves saved her from having to talk to the king of Rohan anymore. She stepped to the side of Éomer with a slight nod, hoping the king did not notice her sigh of relief. As soon as she spotted her father, Lothíriel walked quickly to him, smiling in genuine relief. He was home and he was safe. Seeing his daughter, Imrahil dismounted quickly, embracing Lothíriel and placing a kiss upon her forehead. Then, with a sweeping gesture, Imrahil addressed all who stood in the courtyard.

"Welcome, lords of the West, to my home,"

* * *

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this next chapter!

**silverswath-** Thank you for your review! I hope that you are still enjoying the story. And thank you for the complement on my editing. I'm only human but I try my best to make sure things are Grammatically correct and so on... there is nothing more distracting, I think, than poor Grammar. That being said, I hope I continue to live up to your high standards! :)

**HeartoftheArtsari** - Thank you as well for your review! It is my hope to make this an enjoyable tale for everyone to read. I've always loved Éomer as a character and I couldn't help writing about him! I hope I don't disappoint as the story progresses! :)


	3. Chapter 3

The king of Rohan certainly was a sight when he rode his great warhorse into the palace courtyard. His golden hair was slightly ruffled from his ride and his eyes blazed. His expression was fierce and for a moment, Lothíriel feared something had happened along the road, for he came without his guard and only her brothers. Thankfully, when Amrothos greeted her with his customary jubilance, Lothíriel knew that nothing was wrong, and had untangled her nervous fingers from the thick fur about Huan's neck. But Lothíriel was still tempted to hold Huan for security when she looked at the king of Rohan, for his expression was unreadable to Lothíriel. When Amrothos reintroduced her to the king, the man's expression seemed almost shocked and he had nodded curtly at Lothíriel's greeting. Lothíriel wondered about the king's expression and worried if something was wrong with her appearance. When the man wasn't looking, Lothíriel had smoothed a hand quickly over her hair, thankfully feeling no lock out of place. With no further explanation as to why the king of Rohan's expression was so puzzling, Lothíriel had welcomed the king with as much boldness as she could muster for her stomach was full of butterflies. But then the king's returned greeting had stirred those irksome butterflies into a whirlwind and Lothíriel could not make herself speak to the man to save her life. Thankfully, her father had ridden through the gates just in time, leaving the king of Rohan in silence and saving Lothíriel from any more possible embarrassment. As soon as the guests were settled, Lothíriel had fled the presence of the men, hoping to find a place to regain her wits.

Lothíriel now sat in the kitchen with Huan at her feet, listening to the head cook's update on the evening feast. But with her mind continuously wandering, Lothíriel barely listened to the plump, older woman's report.

"What do you think about that, Princess?"

"Oh that sounds lovely; I'm sure it will taste marvelous," Lothíriel answered, distractedly. Suddenly a wooden spoon smacked down upon the carved wood counter, nearly sending Lothíriel into shock and eliciting a surprised woof from Huan.

"M'lady, you just said it sounds lovely that I'm preparing roasted Oliphant! If you are so distracted, mayhap you should trust me to make the meal decisions?" the cook asked her tone sharp. But the old cook's face was kind when Lothíriel looked at her and she smiled at the princess fondly. "Aren't princesses supposed to be more worried about dancing and festivities than the amount of bread I bake for a feast?" the cook's soft, round face crinkled at the corners of her eyes as she smiled, taking any venom that was in her words away.

"But Bemirtha, you know none of the men will see to it," Lothíriel answered somewhat lamely. The cook smiled her crinkly smile again, waving her wooden spoon in the Princess' face.

"I managed this place with Berion after your dear mother passed for quite some time before you were old enough to take interest. I think I can manage without you for one day. Go enjoy the festivities; you have been too serious for too long," The cook then walked around the counter, nudging Lothíriel from her stool. Lothíriel sighed, but gave the cook a quick hug before she left the kitchens.

As Lothíriel walked, she tried to shake herself out of her distractions but her mind continually ran back to the king of Rohan. It was infuriating to Lothíriel that the man distracted her so much and that she could not speak coherently in his presence. She was going to marry the man! How could she hope to know him if she kept stumbling over her own social inadequacy?

"It's childish and silly!" Lothíriel nearly growled, looking down at Huan. The hound did not share her personal chagrin and only perked his ears forward, tilting his head inquisitively at his mistress. Lothíriel nearly groaned.

"What's childish and silly?" Amrothos' voice suddenly came around the corner before he did and Lothíriel stopped in her tracks, thankful she had not spoken anything else aloud. Huan wagged his long tail at the youngest prince and licked Amrothos' hand.

"I believe you are the living definition of childish and silly, dear brother," Lothíriel said, hoping a jest would keep her brother from asking any deeper questions. Amrothos took on a scorned expression but the laughter in his eyes gave him away as he patted Huan absently on the head.

"You were just the person I was looking for, even though you say such hurtful things," Amrothos linked arms with his sister, obviously unaware of his sister's thoughts.

"I see you are wearing your sandals; good choice," Amrothos said, as Lothíriel's bare toes peeked from under the hem of her skirt. Suspicion rose instantly in Lothíriel's chest and she looked at Amrothos sharply.

"Where are we going, Amrothos?"

"Just down to the beach; I want to see the tide pools. I missed this place when I was gone,"

Lothíriel was about to question her brother's words when she saw the truth on his face. Amrothos had not been away from home as much as Elphir and Erchirion during the war, and Lothíriel imagined, the campaign in the south was a stretch for her ever- jovial brother. So Lothíriel walked willingly with her brother through the palace, down to the stables, and through the small gate that led to the beaches below the Sea-ward tower.

The palace of Dol Amroth was set upon a sea-cliff, looking out upon the bay of Belfalas. The Sea-ward tower, according to the legends, was built by elves, and it stood tall and white upon the western edge of the palace, looking out to the sea. At the top of the tower was a room of wide windows, and a great bell hung in the tower, to warn mariners of the approach of land. It was under the watchful eyes of that tower that the peaceful beaches lie. There were several paths that led to the sandy dunes and down to the ocean and Amrothos and Lothíriel knew the fastest ones by heart. It was always somewhat of a hike to reach the beaches below the palace but the children of Imrahil could walk the paths in their sleep if they had to.

Within half an hour, Lothíriel stood upon her favorite section of beach. She smiled as Huan chased the few gulls upon the shore, his deep bark more ferocious that what he really intended. As the gulls flew overhead, Lothíriel looked up towards the Sea-ward tower, still always amazed at how far away it's top seemed and how tiny it made her feel. Amrothos was seemingly doing the same thing, but was less lost in thought than his sister.

"No one is around; you can take your sandals off," Amrothos' voice broke into Lothíriel's thoughts and she snorted when she looked at her brother. Amrothos was hopping upon one foot, pulling off his second boot and rolling up the hems of his trousers.

"If I've guessed right, you haven't been down here in a while either," Amrothos' expression became serious when Lothíriel only shrugged and bent to untie the leather laces of her sandals. "You work too much, sister. Look at me; I'm older than you and I hardly work. You need to enjoy yourself more often,"

"According to aunt Ivriniel, you need to work more and enjoy less," Lothíriel said, tossing her sandals on top of her brother's boots. Amrothos was the one to shrug this time and Lothíriel laughed.

Taking a handful of her skirts, Lothíriel walked into the surf, letting the warm water wash over her feet. Amrothos splashed up next to her, feigning like he was going to kick water up at his sister. Lothíriel darted away from her brother, laughing when Huan bounded into the water, splashing Amrothos from head to toe. Amrothos yelled at the hound but he wore a smile and threw a piece of driftwood for Huan to chase. As Amrothos played with Huan, Lothíriel walked toward the tide pools at the foot of the sea-cliff leaving her brother and Huan in the surf.

As she walked, Lothíriel scanned the sand, picking up any interesting shells she found. She would never tire of the intricate designs and unique shapes of the shells that washed up on shore; she had quite an extensive collection and oftentimes gave shells to the more artistic of the palace staff to make trinkets out of them. Lothíriel as well, kept many shells about her quarters, using them when they suited her artistic pursuits. She had made a collar for Huan out of woven leather and smooth white shells. And when she had found the most perfect scallop shell she had ever seen, Lothíriel had given it to Dol Amroth's jeweler to make into a gilded ornament. The jeweler had made the shell into a sliver tunic clasp; Lothíriel had given the clasp to Amrothos on his last birthday. Amrothos had loved it and it always did Lothíriel's heart good to see her brother wearing the clasp. Even as Amrothos caught up to her, Lothíriel looked and saw that he wore the sliver shell clasp and she smiled.

The pair walked in a companionable silence for a time, the only disturbance being Huan's occasional bark at a gull that came too close. For all of Amrothos' jesting and hilarity, he knew his sister well and knew when he needed to be silent. There was something he wanted to talk to her about too, so he wanted her to be in as good a mood as possible. After the silence stretched on longer than normal though, Lothíriel preempted Amrothos' questioning with her own.

"What are you up to, Amrothos?" she asked as they climbed upon the rocks of the nearest tide pool. Lothíriel crouched down and reached in to pick up a large starfish, holding the creature gently. She looked up at Amrothos and raised her eyebrows in expectation. Amrothos sighed, defeated by his sister's astuteness.

"I was wanting to know how you are faring, you know, with the _arrangement,"_

"Seriously, Amrothos, have you not jested about that enough?" Lothíriel asked, plopping the starfish back into the pool else she accidentally squeeze it too hard. Amrothos had been merciless before he left for the South, teasing Lothíriel incessantly about marrying the king of Rohan.

"Honestly. I want to know. I know I've been merciless sometimes but I am genuinely curious," Amrothos threw up his hands in defense when Lothíriel stepped toward him.

Lothíriel studied her brother, wondering from where this sudden concern stemmed. Finally she sighed and crouched back at the pool. She watched an urchin creep its way along the bottom of the pool for a couple minutes, trying to gather her thoughts.

"The man unnerves me. His presence and power seem to fill the room wherever he is and he always looks so fierce and wild; it is hard to discern his thoughts. And I am supposed to marry the man!" Lothíriel struck the water in sudden frustration and watched as small fish darted away from her.

"Well, I think you do the same to him, miss 'butter does not melt in my mouth.'" Amrothos said, thinking back to the expression he observed on the Rohir king's face when the man saw Lothíriel in the courtyard. As a man himself, Amrothos recognized the minute flash of hunger in the king's eyes but he also saw that the king was at a loss for words. He had not known what to make of it, but one look at his sister's reserved demeanor, and Amrothos had known what had put the king off.

"What was he like, on the campaign?" Lothíriel suddenly asked. For a moment, reluctance stopped all words from leaving Amrothos' mouth. Though Lothíriel and the king of Rohan had agreed in writing to marry each other, Amrothos did not want to tarnish what his sister thought about the man. Especially now with the self-depreciating mood Lothíriel was in, Amrothos' mind was swirling to choose the correct words. To buy him some time, Amrothos gestured for Lothíriel to follow him to a dry place up farther on the shore. Once they were seated, he felt he could begin.

"Well, he is a wild man when in battle. He reminds me of the great warriors that you hear of in legends. With a single word, all his men would follow him to the death. He is also fair and just, even if he is a little hot headed. There was hardly ever a disturbance in his camp. He is a decent man too, though maybe still a little overwhelmed by his sudden kingship. He rarely laughs, though but I do not blame him, with his family history," Amrothos stopped, unsure if he should tell the final thought on his mind. After a quick mental battle, he decided to share, even if it was only rumor. "I heard though that when he was a Marshal, he was popular with the women. That could just be rumor though," Amrothos added quickly. He watched Lothíriel as she processed his information but saw no outward sign of what she thought of her future husband. As the silence stretched on, Amrothos gathered that the conversation was closed. Lothíriel was thinking and there was no way that Amrothos would know her thoughts until she felt ready to give them. So with a sigh, he leaned back on his elbows and watched the surf crash upon the shore.

* * *

Éomer wandered in the chamber he was given, idly inspecting the doors that led to the wash closet and to the sitting room and balcony. He had spent the better part of the morning conferring with Imrahil and Aragorn about their accomplishments of the southern campaign; he had now just reached his room and it was past noontime. When he had been the last one in Imrahil's study, the man had stopped Éomer at the door.

"When you feel the time is right, we will speak of the betrothal," Then Imrahil had left the room, not giving Éomer another look. That had served to place a strange sense of unease deep in Éomer's stomach and he had gone to his rooms, wishing for silence.

Dol Amroth certainly wasn't as grand as Minas Tirith, but the palace had an airiness to it that was almost elven. What Éomer had seen of the palace made him wonder if it had been built by ancient elves and not by the men whose names were engraved in the capstone of the courtyard arch. The exterior of the palace was of white stone and staunchly built. The interior though, was all lofty arches and pools of light reflecting in the white marble of the halls. It certainly was not the homey warmth of Meduseld but Éomer could not deny that the palace exuded peace and security. Even in his chamber now, Éomer felt that he could spend a whole day in its confines and be comfortable enough to not have to leave. But that was not Éomer's way and after his cursory inspection, he moved to the balcony for some air.

Éomer was not prepared for the view that awaited him and could barely comprehend the mass of water that ran into the western horizon. The vast expanse of the ocean was daunting to him and Éomer wondered how any could abandon hearth and home to sail the untamed waters.

When Éomer turned his eyes upon the beach below, he saw two people walking in the water and a great, grey hound running upon the sand. He instantly recognized the Princess and Imrahil's youngest son. The pair waded in the surf for a few moments and the prince played with the Princess' hound. Then after a while, they walked to the outcropping of rocks at the base of the sea-cliff. The breeze seemed to carry the words of the two straight from their lips up to Éomer and he could hear almost every word they spoke. He was about to turn away when he heard the quiet echo of Amrothos' voice.

"…how you are faring, you know, with the_ arrangement_," Amrothos' disembodied voice floated up to Éomer. Instantly, he was intrigued, though he felt a guilty sting for eavesdropping. The Rohirrim valued honesty and the privacy of others and eavesdropping on conversations was frowned upon. But Éomer still found himself listening to the Prince and Princess' conversation with growing curiosity. Lothíriel was his intended bride, Éomer justified, and he only wished to know how she was faring, even by covert means.

The sea breeze gusted after Amrothos' words and for a moment, Éomer heard nothing but the surf. Then, the princess' voice floated up from below.

"The man unnerves me…" the wind gusted again and Éomer strained to hear. "… It is hard to discern his thoughts. And I am supposed to marry the man!" Lothíriel's voice rose in pitch and Éomer watched as she struck the water of the pool beside her. He recognized the Princess' tone as self-depreciating, for Éomer had heard the same tone with Éowyn when they were growing up. He was not sure what to call it, but an emotion akin to sympathy welled in his chest. He was not prone to softness, but Éomer found that his heart was increasingly soft toward the princess.

Éomer walked back into his chamber, still mulling over what he heard. The Princess would surely be mortified if she knew Éomer had heard them speak of him. But as Éomer's mind replayed the Princess' words, he found they became unsettling to him. His future bride was unsettled in his presence and did not know what he thought of her. Éomer certainly knew that he could not profess to love her yet, for that would be unfair to them both. But perhaps he needed to let her know that he found her attractive.

"Better yet, get to know the Princess," Éomer spoke to himself. A sudden thought sprang to his mind and Éomer smiled. He was always up for a challenge.

* * *

Lothíriel entered the feast hall upon her father's arm, as was proper waving her hand back behind her as Huan tried to enter the hall; the hound saw his mistress' gesture and lay down outside the doors with a huff. This night was to be a simple occasion, leaving room for talk and rest afterwards if one so desired. But for the relaxed nature of the feast, Lothíriel could not still the butterflies that rose in her chest. She had spent the better part of the afternoon pondering the conversation she had had with Amrothos upon the shore. Sadly, she had found no answers to her current nerves and only hoped that she would not be sat near to the king of Rohan, since their betrothal had not been officially announced. To distract herself from her nerves, Lothíriel surveyed the grand table before her, noticing with satisfaction that the servants had done a marvelous job. But as Lothíriel noticed how those at the table were seated, her heart sank. Fate was certainly not on her side.

Imrahil sat at the center of the grand, rectangular table; it was a gesture of equality in Gondor among lords and kings to not take the high place at the head of the table. It was done so that the host of the feast could be surrounded by those whom he called friend, and to show that there was no obligation to carry the weight of their appointed stations amongst each other. So it was now, as the kings of Gondor and Rohan sat to either side of Imrahil.

All at the table stood out of respect for their host, many of them smiling and seeming genuinely happy. A set of blazing blue eyes caught Lothíriel's gaze for a moment but she looked away quickly, not wanting a blush to creep its way to her cheeks. Instead, she met eyes with the ladies at the table, first starting with the Queen, Arwen and Faramir's wife, Éowyn. The queen and her escort had arrived mere hours before the feast and Lothíriel had but greeted them. The Queen smiled at Lothíriel with elven grace but Éowyn full out beamed, as if she knew a great secret. Lothíriel smiled back, wondering what the White Lady was up to.

All too soon, Imrahil was at his seat and he reached to pull the chair out for his daughter when another set of hands was already there.

"Princess," The king of Rohan pulled out Lothíriel's seat, studying her with his blazing blue eyes. Lothíriel felt her betraying blush start to creep up her neck but she did not dare look away from the man until she was seated. As the king pushed Lothíriel's chair gently to the table, his hand barely brushed Lothíriel's back; Lothíriel had to inwardly coach herself not to flinch away from the king's touch, and she hoped he did not notice the gooseflesh that prickled across the back of her neck. Lothíriel could still feel the burn of the king's hot touch when he too, took his seat. Once freed of the man's gaze for a moment, Lothíriel looked across the table and knew that fate certainly was not on her side. Amrothos sat across from her and he shot her a teasing smile. It seemed that their previous serious talk had not altered Amrothos' teasing nature and Lothíriel knew she was in for quite an evening.

As soon as all were accounted for, Imrahil called for the wine and the feasting to begin. Thankfully, there were several jovial toasts and long minutes of hearty eating, so Lothíriel was not obligated to speak to the king of Rohan. When the servants began to clear away the main course and bring out the trays of pastries and delicacies though, Lothíriel looked across the table at Amrothos and almost threw her knife at him. His expression was so smug that Lothíriel wondered if she had imagined their conversation upon the beach from earlier that day.

"How was your afternoon, Princess?" the king of Rohan's voice pulled Lothíriel's gaze from her unctuous brother and she struggled to form a proper answer.

"It was fair, my lord," Lothíriel began, hoping her tone did not sound too cool.

"Please, we are all equals here, are we not? Call me Éomer, for that is who I am firstly," Éomer's voice had dropped near the end of his words and he leaned toward Lothíriel, whispering in her ear, "and as we are betrothed,"

"As you wish, Éomer," Lothíriel said, suddenly feeling very warm. Her mind was suddenly racing and she blurted out the first words that came to her mind. "You may call me by my given name as well," Lothíriel did not dare look across at her brother, for she knew he was listening to their words with rapt attention. But Lothíriel could not look away from the king if she tried. The man had given her a dashing smile and she was powerless in his grasp.

"Your brother has told me that you have read many books about the Riddermark; what did you make of them?" Éomer asked, noticing how the Princess' face became unreadable after he smiled at her. Caution told him he should move to more general topics. The princess as well seemed to relax the smallest bit when he changed the subject and he wondered what he had done to cause her serious reaction.

"I think your lands sound quite intriguing; I am used to seeing the ocean every day and one of the writers likened the plains of Rohan to a sea of grass. I would like to see it one day, if just to say that I have been there,"

"Perhaps you may still travel there one day; with your father as my friend, it would be poor form for me to not invite him and his family to my kingdom at least once in my lifetime," Éomer gave Lothíriel a meaningful glance, giving her a small smile. The princess' face remained impassive but a betraying blush rose to her cheeks; she must have read between the lines of Éomer's last words. His smile broadened some as Éomer looked away from the Princess; for the briefest second, his eyes met those of Legolas across from him. The Elven Prince wore an enigmatic smile and his blue eyes could not conceal a glint of knowing mirth. He imagined the elf had heard his whispered words to Lothíriel, but he trusted that Legolas would keep silent and let them do their own announcing when the proper time came.

"Princess, I hear that you and your lord father have an interesting day planned for us tomorrow," Legolas said, addressing Lothíriel across the table. The princess visibly relaxed and smiled tentatively at the elven prince.

"Since you all have been upon horseback for many days, we have an easy day planned. There will be a picnic meal upon the beach at midday but otherwise, the day will be yours to spend in whichever way you choose. In a few days, the livelier of activities will begin,"

"I am sure you will have outdone yourself by the time our stay is through," Legolas said, casting a quick glance at Amrothos next to him. The younger prince had to stifle a snort into his napkin. As he often found himself doing, Legolas could not decipher what caused the prince's mirth, other than the ale he drank. When Legolas raised his eyes to the princess, she might as well have been shooting daggers at her brother. She obviously knew what the prince was about and it was not to her liking. A glance at Éomer as well told the elf that he too, was wondering about Amrothos' peculiar behavior. Thankfully, the trays of desserts arrived and all talking ceased until the end of the meal.

* * *

Several hours had passed since the evening meal and the sky was completely dark. The stars had come out in grand array and the moon was bright. Lothíriel wandered away from the fire-lit pavilion where most of the guests still talked and told stories, Huan padding behind her. She regretted missing any of the tales that some of the elves were telling but it bothered Lothíriel that Amrothos was missing. Her brother was not one to miss a fine tale, so it was unlike him to be absent from the time of firelight talk. He had disappeared soon after the close of the evening meal and judging by the times his ale was refilled, he was more than likely not in his right mind. That was one trait that Lothíriel wished she could change of her brother's and it caused her no small amount of frustration when Amrothos would stumble into the palace after he had been in his cups. Lothíriel knew that she was partly the problem, for having Amrothos' favorite ale on hand, but her father had asked her to make sure their stock of drink was full, and she had obeyed.

The walk through the palace was quiet and calm, though every so often, Huan would turn back and let out a little growl. Lothíriel was not alarmed, for sometimes the great hound was overprotective when guest were around. Thankfully, Huan minded Lothíriel with swift obedience and was always back at her side with at the quiet snap of her fingers.

Lothíriel came to the wide arch that led to the main garden and as she entered the garden, Lothíriel heard a familiar female giggle. She also heard a deeper masculine voice and knew where she would find her brother. Amrothos had a favorite hiding place among the dwarf citrus trees and warm-weather plants of the garden and Lothíriel had found him in their secluded circle of branches many times.

With a quiet word to Huan to stay, Lothíriel brushed back the branches of the dwarf citrus trees to her brother's hiding place. Amrothos stood kissing a woman; his hands were tangled in the blonde locks of none other than Lothíriel's maid, Fingwen. The maid jumped back from Amrothos with a little yelp and her face flamed to crimson in color as she began to run her fingers frantically through her disheveled hair. Lothíriel had known for a long while that Fingwen had eyes for Amrothos, so it did not surprise her to see the maid in her brother's arms. And she could not blame the other young woman, for Amrothos could be quite charming when he tried.

"Pull yourself together, brother," Lothíriel said, giving Fingwen a nod and waving the maid away. Lothíriel's gaze followed the maid as she went, feeling embarrassed for Fingwen as she still hastily combed her fingers through her hair. When she turned back to Amrothos, Lothíriel was not surprised to see the look of anger on his face.

"I am my own man, Lothíriel! You do not have any business barging into my personal life!" Amrothos' words, though yelled, were slightly slurred and Lothíriel knew that it would do no good to return her brother's anger. Instead, she walked forward and wrapped an arm around Amrothos' waist. Amrothos lamely tried to push his sister away but Lothíriel ducked under her brother's uncoordinated hands.

"What do you want, anyways?" Amrothos asked, his tone a little less belligerent and his hands falling to his sides.

"I saw that you were missing and I came to find you," Lothíriel leveled a serious look at her brother. "And to save your reputation as well," Lothíriel watched as her brother visibly deflated. Amrothos at least had the presence of mind to be abashed, even though he was in his cups.

"I just wanted to forget; I did not intend Fingwen any harm. I don't know how Elphir and Erchirion do it; I hate war," Amrothos rambled, sighing dejectedly. Any other reprimand Lothíriel had, died on her lips, as she took in her brother's distraught face. She had never seen battles of any kind and she could only imagine what soldiers saw in their fights.

The pair walked in silence for a moment, Huan falling in step behind Lothíriel. Thankfully, the palace was still quiet, for their guests still sat in the firelight and Lothíriel was able to lead her inebriated brother to his chambers without incident.

"Sleep off your drink brother; I will have Berion bring you a tonic in the morning," Lothíriel said as Amrothos collapsed onto his bed. Lothíriel sighed and pulled off Amrothos' boots, setting them at the foot of his bed. Her brother mumbled something to her but was already snoring by the time Lothíriel had left his rooms. Outside, in the hall, Lothíriel paused for a moment, her heart aching for her closest brother. She would give him a little leeway in the coming days, even if he was at his most exasperating candor. Huan seemed to sense Lothíriel's heavy heart and leaned against her, looking up at Lothíriel with his large brown eyes. Lothíriel stood and stroked Huan's head for a moment, then sighed and headed for the kitchen.

It was a short walk to the kitchens where Lothíriel knew she would find Berion. When she entered the kitchen, Berion rose from the table where he was sitting across from the head Cook. Lothíriel often forgot how long these two had been married and she felt slightly ashamed for interrupting their time together.

"Berion, could you make up one of your tonics for Amrothos tomorrow morning? He's been in his cups and…"

"You need not say any more, Princess; I will take care of him," Berion smiled kindly at Lothíriel, his demeanor still crisp even after a long day.

"Bemirtha and I were just speaking of the day's happenings;" Berion gestured at his wife, the head cook. "You are welcome to join us if you wish,"

"Thank you, Berion, but I should probably seek my bed," Lothíriel sighed, truly wanting to sit and talk with the older couple, as she had done many times before, but knowing that her days would be full and she needed her rest.

"Well then we bid you a good rest, Princess," Berion said, smiling and sitting back down as Lothíriel left.

* * *

Éomer watched the princess leave the fire-light circle; her eyes had been searching the crowd for many minutes before her expression became concerned and she turned to leave, followed by her ever-present hound, Huan. Éomer had not had many other chances to speak to the princess after the evening meal and that frustrated him. Éowyn had taken the younger woman under her wing when the meal was finished and Éomer had covertly watched the women converse, wondering what they spoke about for the princess was as animated as he had seen her yet. Even when Faramir joined their conversation, the princess' characteristic impassive face was nowhere to be seen. She was even lovelier when she laughed and Éomer had a hard time keeping an objective outlook on his observations.

From what he gathered, the princess truly wasn't an icicle, as many of the noble ladies had called her, but more of an introverted type, only at ease with those she knew she could trust. She was a stark contrast to her brother, Amrothos' personality, and Éomer surmised that Lothíriel certainly took after her lord father. But now, with the memory of her concerned expression in mind, Éomer left the fire light as well. He told himself it was just to make sure that the princess was well, but the errant butterfly in his stomach said otherwise.

He followed the princess on silent feet, keeping track of the halls and doorways she took. Éomer had to stop several times as the Princess' hound turned and growled in his direction. But the princess inadvertently saved Éomer every time and called the hound back to her with a snap of her fingers. They eventually came to a large archway that led to a fragrant garden.

Éomer stopped in the shadow if the arch as the princess continued outside. He heard her light footsteps as she walked through the greenery and he listened for anything that was amiss. Muffled voices rose from the interior of the garden and Éomer was tempted to leave his hiding place and see what was happening. Sudden, quick footsteps came toward him though, and Éomer ducked back into the shadows as a disheveled maid rushed past him. The maid did not even notice him as she rushed by and Éomer let out a small breath. He did not think he had consciously made the decision to become a serial eavesdropper but his heart raced with the threat of detection all the same. Then, he heard more voices speaking, slightly louder this time, and then it became silent. Éomer leaned from the shadows, risking a look upon the garden. He chanced to see the princess walking back towards him. She had her arm wrapped around her rather wobbly brother who looked dejected. Éomer recognized the prince Amrothos, and he remembered noting how much the young prince had drunk at the evening meal. Then the princess looked up and Éomer dashed back into the shadows. He did not think the princess saw him but he was not going to stay to find out. Once again, guilt stabbed at him and he left for his chambers on silent feet, all the while mulling over what he had seen.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you all for your continued reads and reviews; it does my heart good.**

** - Thank you for your complement! I have to say that sometimes my vocabulary is helped along by my handy dictionary and thesaurus but I try my best to use colorful, descriptive words. Let me tell you, I have had to write some borderline bad work to hone my skill... and I am far, far, far away from perfect! **

**annafan- Thank you for your review! My hope is that I do make a believable story out this. I know there have been so many versions of ** **Éomer and Lothíriel's story that I felt I needed to make the plotline familiar but different at the same time. I hope I continue to write an enjoyable tale for you!**


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning arrived hot and sultry, even in the early morning, a stark contrast to the milder temperatures of the previous day. Huan had moved from his cushioned bed to the cool stone of the floor, panting lightly. When Fingwen had stumbled into Lothíriel's room slightly frazzled and tired looking, Lothíriel had given her maid the day off. Lothíriel was not upset at the young woman so she had sent her on her way, wishing her maid well and telling her to enjoy the day to herself.

Since her maid was gone, and with the early heat of the day, Lothíriel brushed her thick hair into a sedate ponytail with the hopes that it would keep her hair from sticking to her neck as the day progressed. In light of the early heat, Lothíriel decided to wear a dress of light Harad silk. Her father had spoiled Lothíriel at her last birthday and had bought her several dresses made of Harad silk. He said it was so that his daughter could enjoy the summer months in ease and still be tastefully dressed. Lothíriel had laughed at her father's explanation, knowing that he had a bad habit of spoiling her, even when she was grown. But after Lothíriel had teased her father, she was truly thankful for the indulgence he bestowed on her for there were days in Southern Gondor that were relentlessly hot and silk seemed to be the only practical fabric to wear for its coolness.

Lothíriel ran her hands over the precious dresses, choosing one that was a deep blue, matching the color of Dol Amroth's standard. It was Lothíriel's favorite, but her aunt Ivriniel's least approved. The dress was rather modest in form but bore no sleeves, only small fluttering epaulettes that fell just over Lothíriel's shoulders, showing most of her arms. But, her aunt's approval did not matter to Lothíriel, as a hot gust of wind blew through the arch of her balcony into her room, reminding the princess why she dressed so.

"Come along, Huan; it will be cooler downstairs," Lothíriel said, patting the hound's shaggy head as he lumbered to her side, still panting.

As Lothíriel left her chambers, she saw Berion carrying a small silver tray with a fizzing cup of liquid towards Amrothos' chambers. Their eyes met, and Lothíriel smiled gratefully at the butler as he entered her brother's chamber.

It was a relief to come to the cooler temperatures of the great hall, and Lothíriel saw that many of the palace's guests were already up and about. It was barely an hour past sunrise but Lothíriel was not surprised that many could not sleep any longer because of the sudden heat. As she scanned the hall, Lothíriel saw that Faramir and Éowyn stood at the far end of the hall; Éowyn waved Lothíriel over when she spotted her.

"You should make more of an effort sometimes, Lothíriel," Éowyn said, her tone teasing and light. "Truthfully, you look beautiful," Éowyn smiled and Lothíriel smiled back. She genuinely liked Éowyn and in the short time she had known her, Lothíriel could not think of a better match to her cousin Faramir's quiet calm. Lothíriel decided that she would spend as much of the day as she could with her cousin and his wife if they allowed.

"Do you two have any plans for the morning? I could show you around the palace, Éowyn, or we could spend our day on the shore?" Lothíriel looked hopefully between her cousin and his wife. In her hopefulness, Lothíriel did not notice the silent conversation the married couple was having.

"We would love to spend the day with you!" Éowyn said, linking arms with Lothíriel. "Let us break our fast and then we can be off for the day,"

"Excellent. I can meet you at the stables in an hour, if that is fair to you? I have a few things to see to in the kitchens before we can go," Lothíriel said.

"We will certainly be there," Éowyn then dropped her arm, letting Lothíriel go. Éowyn watched the younger woman and her hound as they walked away, a plan forming in her mind.

"I have seen that look many times, and it does not always bode well," A deeper, male voice sounded next to Éowyn. Éomer stood next to his sister, having just come from his chambers.

"Would you like to spend the day with us, brother?" Éowyn suddenly asked, spinning to face her brother, a sweet smile on her face. Éomer recognized that smile as well, for his sister had used it on him many times when they were younger to get him to do many things for her. Little did Éowyn know that Éomer had no intention of rejecting her request, for he had seen Lothíriel speaking to her and Faramir minutes before he joined them.

"I could spend the day with you, if you do not think I will be a hindrance otherwise," Éomer said, calling Éowyn's bluff. His sister only smiled.

"Good. Meet us at the stables in an hour and then we shall be off," Éowyn smiled at her brother then, taking Faramir's hand and leading him away from Éomer. The young king watched as his sister and her husband disappeared into the hall leading to the garden, Faramir slightly scowling and Éowyn beaming in triumph.

* * *

Lothíriel came to the kitchens, her eyes meeting those of her miserable brother, Amrothos. Erchirion sat next to him and was smiling a little too broadly.

"Good morning, little sister," Erchirion said, a mite too loudly. Amrothos flinched and sent his brother a dark look. Lothíriel as well, sent a quick scowl at Erchirion, even though she knew Amrothos' current state was brought on by himself.

"I thought you spent last night with Elphir and Alarwen?" Lothíriel asked of her middle brother.

"Yes, I did. But when Elphir did not rise with the sun, I surmised that he and Alarwen were best left alone," Erchirion's comment elicited a weak snicker from Amrothos and Erchirion smiled broadly again. "Marriage duty and all," Erchirion added, drawing another snicker from Amrothos.

"Enough!" Lothíriel said, casting a disparaging look at her brothers. "You know that Elphir and Alarwen struggled to have Alphros, do not begrudge them in their efforts for another child," Lothíriel turned away from her brothers then, going to the large pantry at the back of the kitchen. From it, she took a waterskin then marched back to her brothers.

"I was coming down here to see how you were faring, Amrothos, but I see Erchirion is keeping you company well," Lothíriel leveled a guilt inducing stare at her brothers, then left the kitchen, not noticing the limp wave Amrothos gave her, or the light punch Erchirion gave Amrothos.

With her time in the kitchen done sooner than what she planned, Lothíriel returned to her rooms. The palace was quickly becoming unbearably hot. Lothíriel kicked off her light leather shoes in favor of her leather laced sandals. She also braided her hair and wound it into a knot on the back of her head; the loose strands from her early ponytail were sticking to the back of her neck in a most annoying fashion and Lothíriel could not stand it. While in her room, Lothíriel took her worn leather satchel; she never knew what she would find upon the beach and wanted to be prepared. The worn leather of the satchel looked out of place against the dark silk of her dress but Lothíriel did not care, for oftentimes, practicality ruled over fashion. Just as she was about to leave, Lothíriel dashed back into her room, taking an old pair of trousers and a dark tunic from her wardrobe. It never hurt to be prepared, Lothíriel thought, and she hoped that Faramir and Éowyn had had the same thoughts.

The prospect of a day with her favorite cousin and his wife quickly drove Lothíriel's irritating encounter with her brothers from her mind and she walked into the stable on light feet. The shade of the stable was not nearly as hot, and the wind blew from one end of the building to the other, making the place feel a little cooler than in the sweltering sun.

"It seems like we may be in for a storm tonight," The old groom said, when he noticed Lothíriel wiping the sheen of sweat from her brow.

"Aye, I think you may be right," Lothíriel agreed with the old groom. The day before had been mild and fair and this sudden change in temperature never boded well for those living on the coast.

With a smile at the old groom, Lothíriel walked leisurely through the stables. She first went to the large stack of hay in the broadest stall.

"Berúthiel, where are you?" Lothíriel crooned, searching the giant pile of hay. After a few moments, the dark head of a black cat poked out of the hay, followed by the faces of several kittens. Lothíriel laughed in delight as the kittens bounded out of their hiding place, followed by their mother.

"You have been a good mother, Berúthiel," Lothíriel said, picking up a kitten in each hand and holding their soft fur against her face. It was almost too hot to do so but Lothíriel never tired of the downy soft fur of the kittens. One of the kittens, a spunky orange tabby, puffed up his tail and hissed at Huan when the large hound came forward to investigate the kittens. Lothíriel laughed again as the kitten batted at Huan's nose, and then ran back into their hollow in the hay. Berúthiel, their mother, though was not afraid of the large dog, and wound herself around Huan's legs. Lothíriel had found Huan and Berúthiel within days of each other, and they had slept together to keep warm when they were puppy and kitten. Even when Berúthiel had moved to the stables to keep the rodent population at bay, the hound and cat kept their friendly relationship. Lothíriel watched the kittens for a moment more, then turned away to walk through the rest of the stables.

After a few moments, Lothíriel finally stopped to talk to her father's stallion, Silver-mane. She had missed the lively horse and he was Lothíriel's favorite and the Stallion seemed partial to her as well. Imrahil occasionally let Lothíriel ride Silvermane upon the beach, for she was the only one outside of her father that the Stallion tolerated upon him. Lothíriel did not know why, but she imagined it was because she and her father were so much alike in mood and temperament, that the horse did not feel the need to test his rider. Lothíriel rubbed the Stallion upon his forehead, scratching between his ears when he lowered his head. When Silvermane had his fill of scratching, the horse nudged against Lothíriel's hands with his broad nose, huffing out a large breath when he found no treat.

"I was told to stop spoiling you," Lothíriel giggled, giving the stallion an affectionate pat upon his neck. Silver-mane nickered but his head quickly shot up and his ears pricked forward. Huan as well turned quickly and let out a low growl.

"You have a way with that stallion; only your father could control him when we were in the South," a deep, male voice spoke behind Lothíriel.

Lothíriel turned around quickly, the voice startling her. Behind her stood the king of Rohan; he was wearing his characteristic green garb but Lothíriel noticed that the top of his tunic was not fastened all the way up, and a light gleam of sweat was upon his forehead. He was studying Lothíriel and a small smile graced his lips, though he stood several spans away from her. Lothíriel wondered why until she heard the uneasy snort of Silver-mane behind her and Huan's warning growl. She snapped her fingers at Huan and then turned back to the Stallion, rubbing her hand upon his neck.

"He is a friend and a king, you two; you don't need to be afraid of him," Lothíriel said in a soft voice, almost to herself. She gave Silvermane another light pat before turning away from the horse. Éomer watched this all with mild amusement. He had heard and seen by the hound Huan's constant presence that the Princess was a friend to animals but now that he saw her with her father's stallion, he knew her personality was most at ease with the animal kind in general. Animals ask nothing of you and are trusting to a fault. Yes, Éomer thought, he was starting to understand the princess a little more.

"What brings you down here, my lor- Éomer?" Lothíriel asked, walking next to the king but keeping Huan between them. Lothíriel realized that her question was silly as soon as she asked it; she was talking to a Horselord after all. He was probably coming to check on his horse.

"I came to see how Firefoot was doing," Éomer started, and Lothíriel nodded, "but I am also to meet Éowyn and Faramir here. My sister invited me to spend the morning with her and Faramir," Éomer said, not missing the sudden stillness of the Princess' face.

"Oh, well then we are here for the same reason. I did not know your sister had a previous engagement, or I would not have asked," Lothíriel said, her face impassive but her voice downcast. Lothíriel's response stung Éomer a little and he was about to say something when a cheerful shout range from the opposite end of the stable.

"There you two are; we were wondering if we had arrived first," Éowyn walked between Éomer and Lothíriel, linking arms with each one in turn. Faramir walked next to Lothíriel and shot his cousin an apologetic look.

"I did not know that you had made plans with your brother; I do not wish to impose," Lothíriel said, having no choice to follow Éowyn as she marched forward.

"Nonsense; you aren't imposing at all. I invited Éomer after you had asked. I figure my brother needed a day in the hot sun to blow away some of his kingly stuffiness,"

Lothíriel looked up over the top of Éowyn's head and met eyes with Éomer. The man's expression was patient but he rolled his eyes at his sister's enthusiasm. The expression from Éomer caught Lothíriel unawares and she found herself stifling a laugh. Perhaps this day would not be so bad.

Once they had exited the stables and started on their way to the shore-line, Éowyn freed Lothíriel and allowed the younger woman to lead the way. Huan ran ahead of the group as the self-appointed scout. Faramir followed Lothíriel, leaving the two siblings of Rohan at the rear of the small procession.

"What are you up to, sister?" Éomer asked in rohirric, suddenly suspicious if she knew of the arrangement between him and Lothíriel. Éowyn looked over her shoulder, an overly innocent expression on her face.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Éowyn responded, though her mischievous eyes gave her lie away.

"People who meddle oftentimes do not have a good end," Éomer said again in rohirric. This time Éowyn snorted and rolled her eyes. Éomer was about to question his sister more but she ran to catch up to her husband. Éomer was the one to roll his eyes this time and continued silently down the path. If Éowyn knew of his betrothal or not, Éomer did not necessarily want Éowyn's help to woo Lothíriel.

They came to the shore several minutes later and Éomer's ire at his sister was momentarily forgotten. He had looked upon the ocean from the height of his balcony and had marveled at its expanse and that awe was not diminished as he beheld the ocean upon its shore. The crash of the waves and the cry of the gulls overhead coalesced into a striking cacophony of sound of which Éomer had never heard the like.

"It's marvelous isn't it?" Faramir asked, stepping next to the king.

"Indeed," Éomer replied, still watching the surf. The princess' hound had already bounded into the water and Éomer wondered if the hound had the right idea. His sister's voice, though, suddenly pulled him from his observations. He turned to look at the women and saw that Éowyn held a tunic and trousers in her hands.

"Come now, Éomer has seen me in men's clothes, he will not begrudge you the same," Éowyn waved a hand back at her brother for emphasis. "Besides, I know the only way we will survive this beastly heat is if we cool ourselves. What better way than to swim?" Éowyn looked at Lothíriel hopefully. Éomer as well studied the princess, not missing how the small tendrils of hair that escaped her bun clung to her face and neck. There was a moment of hesitation upon Lothíriel's face, and she flicked her eyes to Éomer, almost as if she were seeking his permission. Éomer only smiled and watched a bead of sweat trickle down Lothíriel's temple.

"Oh all right!" the princess said, throwing up her hands in defeat. Éowyn clapped her hands in glee then took Lothíriel's hand and ran behind an outcropping of rock.

"She is one of a kind," Faramir said, a strange look on his face. Éomer assumed he referred to Éowyn and he agreed. If anyone could talk someone into something, it was Éowyn. Éomer listened to the women's chatter as it floated from their hiding place; it was beastly hot and a swim did sound good, all propriety aside.

_Gondor already thinks me a Wildman._ Éomer thought, wondering about the reactions of the more cultured nobles that were also Imrahil's guests. Éomer chanced to look over at Faramir; the steward had already deposited his boots and tunic in a pile on the sand and stood waiting, bare-chested. That was enough convincing for the Horselord, and Éomer had his boots kicked off by the time the women were ready. He was just pulling his tunic over his head when Éowyn and Lothíriel came from their hiding place. When he looked up, he met the wide eyes of the princess. She seemed unable to look away from Éomer's bare chest and he looked down upon himself to see if something was amiss. All he saw were the patchwork of scars that he had inherited over the years and he looked up with a smile. The princess now had her eyes down but her face a shade more red than the heat allowed. Éomer took this moment to study the princess, noticing right away that, although the tunic and cut-off trousers she wore were a little baggy, they did nothing to hide Lothíriel's womanly figure.

"Shall we?" Faramir said, suddenly grabbing his wife and tossing her over his shoulder. Éowyn kicked and screamed and tried to free herself but it was evident to Lothíriel and Éomer that she rather enjoyed Faramir's actions. Éomer chuckled and looked back at the princess, flirtatious boldness coming over him.

"If you would like, I could do the same for you? Practice makes perfect," Éomer grinned, having to stifle a laugh as Lothíriel's cool façade cracked and a look of mortified terror crossed her face.

"No, I think I am alright," Lothíriel said quietly, walking quickly to the surf.

As soon as her feet hit the water, Lothíriel wondered why she had considered not swimming. The water was cool compared to the air and the salty tang was refreshing. As soon as she was deep enough, Lothíriel dove into a wave, relishing the coolness of the water around her. She swam as far as her air and the sea-current would allow, popping back to the surface with practiced ease. She screamed though, when something warm brushed against her churning feet. But then Faramir's head broke the surface of the water and Lothíriel had to bite back an oath she had learned from her brothers.

"Faramir, you are the worst!" Lothíriel said, swinging her arms at her cousin and splashing him in the face. Faramir only laughed, sending a wave of water at Lothíriel that drowned out all her words. She ducked below the water, taking hold of Faramir's shoulders and pulling him underneath. Her cousin was stronger than she, though, and Lothíriel felt herself being lifted out of the water and tossed aside. The crest of a large wave fell over her and Lothíriel tumbled along the ocean's sandy floor until strong hands pulled her out of the water. Lothíriel was not out of breath or scared but her hair had fallen from its bun and was tangled about her face, making it impossible to see.

"Now you are trying to make up to me?" Lothíriel laughed, pulling her dark locks away from her eyes.

"No, only making sure Imrahil doesn't blame me for the drowning of his only daughter,"

Lothíriel looked up through her hair and saw that it was Éomer, not Faramir that had pulled her from the water. The water where she stood was just past Lothíriel's waist; with the king's height, Lothíriel could still see his entire bare chest down to the curve of muscle at the top of his hips. Éomer's hands were still upon her waist, Lothíriel noticed and she stepped quickly away from the man.

"Thank you," Lothíriel said quietly, and then she turned and dove back into the surf. The water did little to clear her head and Lothíriel only hoped that Éomer would blame the heat for her red face. What Lothíriel missed when she had dove away from the man, was the fire that ignited in Éomer's eyes and the roughish smile upon his face.

* * *

Almost two hours later, Lothíriel drug herself out of the surf, collapsing into the sand with a stifled groan. Huan's nose was instantly in her face and Lothíriel pushed the hound's long nose away. Lothíriel felt the sand shift next to her and the coolness of someone's shadow fell on her face.

"You never learn do you?"

"I hate you, Faramir," Lothíriel said, swinging her arm weakly at her cousin's feet. She heard him chuckle and then the coolness of his shadow left for a moment.

"Faramir! I will throttle you if you've killed my newest favorite cousin!" Éowyn's voice rang over the surf and Lothíriel could not stop the smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth. She knew Éowyn would take revenge for her.

"I did not kill her, she is fine," Faramir said, his voice his usual calm tinged with a bit of humor. "Lothíriel and I have raced many times and she has survived worse,"

Lothíriel let out an incredulous laugh, sitting up and spearing her cousin with a look. She stood and pointed a finger at Faramir.

"You are too fond of cheating. And you," Lothíriel's voice faltered when she looked at where Éomer walked toward her. Sea water ran down Éomer's chest and shoulders, outlining the muscles of his arms and abdomen. When she looked back at his face, Éomer winked at her and that seemed to snap Lothíriel out of her trance somewhat.

"You are far too excellent a swimmer for a Horselord, and you should be ashamed of yourself," Lothíriel said weakly, balling her hands into fists as Éomer walked toward her, his smile unrepentant.

"Why should I be ashamed for being an excellent swimmer?" Éomer asked as his expression remained unchanged. With the man close, Lothíriel studiously kept her gaze away from Éomer's bare chest.

"You very well know why, you oaf!" Éowyn chimed in, punching her brother in the arm. Éomer had enough sense that he caught Éowyn's other punches before Faramir pulled his wife away from her brother.

"Darling, calm down; it was all in the spirit of fun," Faramir said in his most placating tone. Éowyn calmed down some but was still sending Éomer daggers when Faramir placed her back on the sand.

"Fun indeed," Éowyn sniffed, turning and taking Lothíriel's hand and walking further up the beach. The women sat down in the sand, and the men followed, though Éomer still looked unrepentant. The men sat next to Éowyn, and Lothíriel chanced a glance out of the corner of her eye. Éomer was looking her way, and he winked when their eyes met. Lothíriel's anger quickly melted and she had to stifle a giggle. Éowyn noticed Lothíriel's shaking shoulders and gave her a questioning look. It only made Lothíriel giggle more until she was full out laughing.

"I am sorry; it's just that, now that I think about it, it was a little funny," Lothíriel said, trying to quell her laughter. At the time it happened, Lothíriel had been absolutely terrified but now, she saw what happened as something she and Amrothos had done to each other many times.

Faramir had challenged Lothíriel to a race, to see who could swim to a large rock nearly two bowshots away from shore. As they had done this many times, and Lothíriel had beaten Faramir before, she had agreed to the race. She had gotten off to a quick start and was nearly to the rock when something brushed against her. She was only mildly alarmed, for sometimes, sea lions were seen in the bay of Belfalas and it was known that they were quite curious. So Lothíriel had continued and was still out-pacing Faramir. But when she had reached the rock and turned around, something clamped around her foot and pulled Lothíriel under the water. Sheer terror had risen in Lothíriel's chest and she thrashed against whatever held her, kicking with all her might with her free leg. Her foot had connected with something warm and slightly soft but then she was free. When she bobbed to the surface, she was still able to catch up with Faramir and beat him to shore. When Lothíriel had looked back as she stumbled from the water, she had seen Éomer's golden head, as he swam back to the shore, and knew he and Faramir had been in league the entire time. It was a mild prank, at best and Lothíriel now saw the slight humor in it, if not, Faramir's unknown weakness; a hatred of losing.

Lothíriel looked back over at Éomer, noticing a bright red patch along his side; it must've been where Lothíriel kicked him and the princess smiled with some satisfaction. Éomer lifted his face to the sun as Lothíriel watched him and for a moment, the king looked younger. But then he dropped his face and looked right at Lothíriel and she nearly groaned when he winked again.

"It is nearly noon; you ladies should change before everyone else arrives," Faramir said, looking back toward the palace. Lothíriel followed her cousin's gaze, jumping up when she saw the small caravan of servants and nobles headed their way.

"Father would be mortified if he knew you saw me like this," Lothíriel said, looking quickly at Éomer. Faramir and Éowyn noticed their sudden exclusion and Éowyn had to hide a smile. Lothíriel dashed away to the rock she and Éowyn had changed behind, combing her fingers through her loose hair. The White Lady was not far behind her and Lothíriel handed Éowyn her dress when she came behind the rock. Thankfully, for the heat, Lothíriel was nearly dry, and dressing in the appropriate attire was quick work. Then with deft fingers, Lothíriel braided her hair and twisted it into a bun. As she reached for her sandals, Lothíriel quickly decided against them. Her dress was long enough to hide her bare feet and she would keep her toes buried in the sand. Though her sandals were cooler than boots, Lothíriel could not stomach the thought of her skin sweltering against the leather. Éowyn watched Lothíriel in silence, smiling some when Lothíriel stuffed her sandals into the worn leather satchel she had brought with her.

When the women left their hiding place, Lothíriel saw that Faramir was already presentable looking and pulling on his boots. When her eyes drifted to Éomer, Lothíriel caught herself staring again, as the king pulled his tunic over his head, leaving several of the top laces undone. Éomer looked up and met Lothíriel's eyes, and she looked away, her nerves hitting her with sudden force. Huan seemed to sense Lothíriel's change in mood and came to the princess' side, nudging her hand with his nose. Then the hound's ears perked and Lothíriel followed Huan's gaze; closer to the base of the sea-cliff, servants had already set up a broad pavilion in the sand. Lothíriel saw Erchirion and Amrothos among the first-comers and she started walking to them as Éowyn went to Faramir and Éomer.

"Sister, we wondered where you had been," Erchirion said, taking note of Lothíriel's sun-pinked cheeks and windswept hair.

"Just enjoying the sun; Faramir and Éowyn and Éomer spent the morning with me," Lothíriel said, taking a cup of chilled wine one of the servants offered her.

"So we are on a first name basis with the king of Rohan, now, are we?" Erchirion asked, taking his most superior brotherly tone that irritated Lothíriel to no end. Lothíriel knew he was only teasing, for he had knowledge of the arraignment between her and the king of Rohan, but Erchirion's tone still bothered her.

"I am only following his wishes; you may ask him yourself if you feel man enough to," Lothíriel retorted coolly, taking another sip of the wine. She looked back over her shoulder, seeing that Faramir and Éowyn were talking with Aragorn and Arwen but Éomer stood idly in the shade of the canopy the servants had raised. Without thinking, Lothíriel took another cup of chilled wine and walked over to the king of Rohan. Éomer's eyes instantly locked on Lothíriel as she walked toward him and he smiled as she held out the glass of wine.

"My lord," Lothíriel said, handing off the cup with a small smile. Éomer's hesitated as his hand brushed against Lothíriel's. Lothíriel only smiled, and gently pushed the cup toward Éomer.

"Thank you," Éomer said quietly. His face became inscrutable and Lothíriel wondered at the expression but her nerves sprang up again and she did not voice the question on her lips.

* * *

Faramir walked up behind Éowyn, wrapping his arms around her. He smiled when his wife sighed and he kissed her lightly on the neck.

"Today was a good day," Éowyn said, leaning into her husband's embrace. Faramir kissed Éowyn's neck again, making her shiver.

"Matchmaking is hard work, I'm told," Faramir said. Éowyn was about to laugh, not ashamed of her brazen attempts against Lothíriel and Éomer, but her husband's tone gave her pause.

"You think I'm wrong, don't you?" Éowyn asked, her tone holding a little fire. Faramir remained silent for a moment, only moving to kiss the other side of Éowyn's neck. Patience was not one of Éowyn's virtues, but she had learned in her short time of marriage to Faramir to cultivate that missing trait. Her efforts were rewarded oftentimes, this time being no different as Faramir finally spoke.

"I just think that perhaps if they are meant to be together, they will find each other without our help. They certainly seem interested in each other but they are both adults and in no need of our conniving," Faramir did not add that he had a suspicion that Éomer and Lothíriel already had some sort of an understanding with each other. The familiarity with which they greeted each other was enough to reignite the rumors that had flown about when they had kissed at his and Éowyn's wedding. Faramir felt Éowyn take a deep breath, and he abandoned his musing thoughts quickly.

"Éomer has sometimes needed a push to do the right thing. What if…"

"Leave them be, wife," Faramir said calmly. Éowyn took another deep breath, about to speak again but thought better of it and instead settled back into Faramir's embrace. She did not wholly agree with Faramir but she did not want to end the night on a fight.

Husband and wife stared at the darkened horizon in silence for a moment until the flash of lightning split the sky. Éowyn shivered and Faramir held her more tightly. It had been a surprise to Faramir to find that his wife, the slayer of the Witch-king, was afraid of storms. He had found out on their honeymoon, of all times and Éowyn had threatened him with death or at least a beating if he ever told anyone else. Being a wise husband, even for his newness to the title, Faramir had agreed, locking Éowyn's secret away but telling his new wife that she could tell him when she was afraid, for they were one person now and he wanted to help her when fears came.

"Let's go inside; I don't like this," Éowyn said quickly as another bolt of lightning split the sky. Faramir nodded, running his hand softly down his wife's arm before taking her hand and leading her back into their rooms. As Faramir closed the louvered glass doors to the balcony, lightning ripped through the sky again, and he heard an uncharacteristic squeal from Éowyn as she dashed for their bed. Once everything was secure, Faramir walked calmly to his wife, who sat on the bed clutching a pillow to her chest.

"I hate storms!" Éowyn hissed through her teeth. Faramir only smiled, wresting the pillow from his wife's hands.

"Then let me distract you," Faramir said, claiming Éowyn's mouth in a sudden, hungry kiss.

* * *

Lothíriel stood at the edge of the palace garden, watching the storm clouds in the west. The old groom had been right, and with the setting of the sun, a storm had risen on the horizon. Its dark clouds were now indistinguishable against the night sky, save for the absence of stars and moon. Lothíriel loved to feel the charge in the air and the cool winds that came with a storm whenever one blew in from the sea. She could most usually be found outside when a storm was near and this time was no different. The wind gusted against Lothíriel, cool and crisp with the smell of rain. Lightning flashed in the distance, making Huan whine anxiously. Lothíriel put her hand upon the hound's head for his comfort, unwilling to go inside just yet.

"This is a strange place to be with a storm coming,"

Lothíriel looked over her shoulder at the increasingly familiar voice of the king of Rohan. Éomer stood just behind her, causing butterflies to erupt in Lothíriel's stomach. She looked away from the man, distracting herself with the coming storm.

"I've loved storms, ever since I was a child. My brothers think I'm crazy," Lothíriel offered in the silence between them. Éomer only smiled, moving to stand next to Lothíriel. Huan gave Éomer a cursory glance but allowed the man to stay. Éomer had given Huan several secret treats throughout the day, hoping to put himself in the great hound's good graces. His efforts seemed to win the hound over enough to let Éomer close to Lothíriel without a growl. Éomer moved his hand to pat the hound on the head but decided not to push his luck at the hound's dour look. But lightening flashed and with the distant roll of thunder, the great hound shrank against Lothíriel's side, letting out a small whine.

"Éowyn would kill me for this but she is terrified of storms," Éomer said, watching the horizon for the next flash of light.

Lothíriel looked at the king, staying silent when he continued to speak.

"One summer, when we both were still quite young and mother and father were still alive," Éomer paused for a moment and Lothíriel was surprised at the flash of pain on the man's face but he rallied quickly and continued speaking. "A storm swept across the plains and with it came a whirlwind. I remember standing in the doorway of our home as pieces of ice the size of a man's fist fell from the sky. And then, it all suddenly stopped, and then came the roar. The whirlwind was heading straight for our home; mother took us both and we three squeezed into our tiny root cellar until the whirlwind passed. Father had been out on a patrol with his Éored and had seen the whirlwind afar off and knew that it was near to us. We did not come out of the root cellar until we heard father yelling our names. When we came out, our home was still standing but the thatch of the roof was nearly blown away and our stables were destroyed. Ever since then, Éowyn has feared storms and rightly so, but I have always loved them; they make me feel so, so…" Éomer dropped off, searching for words.

"So alive?" Lothíriel finished quietly. Éomer looked at the princess quickly.

"Yes,"

For once, Lothíriel did not look away from Éomer when his eyes searched her face. Lothíriel could not stop the twinge in her heart as stark loneliness shone from Éomer's eyes.

"Storms remind me of happier times," Éomer nearly whispered his expression suddenly raw. Lothíriel reached a hand towards Éomer but stopped just short of touching his arm. Éomer saw her movement and looked at Lothíriel, his eyes still full of the gnawing loneliness. They stared at each other, each one's hands hovering between them, until a flash of lightning lit the night sky. Lothíriel looked to the west quickly, pulling her hand back and clenching her fists as an unexpected wave of disappointment washed over her.

"Goodnight, Princess," Éomer said quietly, leaving suddenly without another word.

Lothíriel stood in silence for some time, her thoughts in turmoil and her heart racing. What she had seen on Éomer's face had shaken her to her core. It was like a curtain was pulled away and Lothíriel realized that though the king of Rohan exuded bravado and charm, it was merely a shield from others. He was still a man with a fiery will and of great power but beneath it all were open wounds in the king's soul.

* * *

A/N: I had a fun time writing this chapter when I did but I hope it didn't come off as "Middle Earth Beach party- yeah!" I thought the characters needed some lighter events to help explain who they are. :) Thank you all for your continued reads and reviews!

**The Moonlily- Thank you for your review! You already know I am a fan of yours so I have to tell you that I had some crazy nerves come up when I saw that you had reviewed my story! As for the wedding tradition in the beginning, I was up in the air about it when I first wrote it. I had done research on the tradition and found that it originated way back in 14th century France and England. Brides and grooms at that time started tossing their bouquets/garters to keep those at the wedding from snatching pieces of the bride's clothing for good luck... I'm sure glad we aren't in the 14th century anymore... That time period may still be a little "younger" compared to Tolkien's Middle Earth society but I thought it was close enough in dress and times that I would keep it. I also figured that since Faramir and Eowyn had practically announced their love from the walls of Minas Tirith that their wedding would be a little less formal than say, Aragorn and Arwen's wedding. But, truth be told, there is just something about wedding traditions that grabs ahold of all of us at one time or another. ;) **

**HeartoftheArtsari- Thank you for your review! I am glad to have your interest and I hope I do not disappoint in the coming chapters! **


	5. Chapter 5

Lothíriel slept fitfully that night, unable to shake the king of Rohan from her mind. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw his eyes, raw and lonely, and she was instantly wide awake. So it was that she had only been asleep for a few hours when Fingwen knocked on her door.

"M'lady, your lord father is taking the nobles on a tour of Dol Amroth and the port and he asked me to make sure you were ready to accompany them,"

Lothíriel lifted her heavy head from her pillows; she looked at Fingwen and had to blink several times to focus on the maid. Fingwen was already busy, pulling a light riding dress from Lothíriel's wardrobe and then heading to the balcony to open the louvered glass doors. A blast of fresh air hit Lothíriel as she sat upon the side of her bed and she inhaled the cooler, fresh smelling breeze. Fingwen turned from the doors and frowned at Lothíriel.

"It's a good thing I came when I did; your hair is going to take some work," Fingwen walked quickly to Lothíriel and took her by her arms and sat her down on her vanity stool. With quick strokes, Fingwen brushed out Lothíriel's hair, frowning at the tousled waves when they would not behave. As Fingwen continued to fight with Lothíriel's suddenly unruly hair, Lothíriel noticed a light stinging on the back of her neck. When she turned a little she was able to see that the sun had burned her some during her time upon the beach the day before. Then, a thought occurred to her and Lothíriel felt all sleep leave her. Thankfully, Fingwen was nearly done with Lothíriel's hair and when the maid's fingers tied the final braid up, Lothíriel dashed from her chair and threw on her clothes. Fingwen rushed behind Lothíriel, vainly trying to help the princess dress.

"What has gotten into you, M'lady?" Fingwen huffed, tucking back a strand of hair that Lothíriel had knocked loose.

"Nothing. Thank you Fingwen," Lothíriel said quickly, pulling on her riding boots as fast as she could. Then she dashed back to her vanity, grabbing a small ceramic crock and running out of her rooms with Huan on her heels.

As soon as she was in the halls, Lothíriel walked as quickly and sedately as possible, thankful that the leggings under her riding skirt allowed her to walk quickly without seeming improper. When she came to the door of the guest chamber she was looking for, Lothíriel knocked sharply on the polished wood. She heard movement on the opposite side, and uncertainty hit Lothíriel full force as she realized what she was doing. But then, the door creaked open and Lothíriel knew she had made the right decision.

"Princess?" Éomer stood at the door, his expression confused. Lothíriel looked the man up and down quickly, taking in his sun-pinked cheeks, to the blazing red patch of skin that Lothíriel spied at the neck of his linen shirt, to the brighter red of his forearms. Without thinking, Lothíriel pushed the door back and walked into the king's room.

"The sun burned you yesterday and you will sicken if you do not do something," Lothíriel said, remembering stories her brothers told of young, inexperienced sailors falling ill when burned by the sun. Lothíriel as well had experienced her share of sun burns and she knew the king must be uncomfortable at the very least. And when Lothíriel studied the incredulous monarch before her, she knew he was in more than a little pain. Small beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and he held his shoulders stiffly. His expression was precariously close to dangerous so she held the small crock in front of her like it was a shield.

"It is ointment made from desert plants especially for burns. If you put it on now, it will ease the sting and lessen the time your skin peels," The Princess and King regarded each other for a tense moment until Lothíriel reached out and gently touched Éomer on the shoulder. Though he tried to hide it, lothiriel did not miss the grimace of pain that flashed across the king's face.

"My lord, you will be in worse pain as the day goes on if you do not use this," Lothíriel held the crock out again, this time, lifting its lid and scraping out a glob of ointment onto her fingers. She raised her eyebrows at the king as he stared her down. Then without a word, Éomer gingerly took off his shirt. Lothíriel's eyes widened at the blazing red of the king's torso, noticing that the scars crossing his body were a deeper red. Without permission, Lothíriel started rubbing the ointment onto Éomer's shoulders.

"You know, you could get yourself into trouble for being here," Éomer finally said, breaking his silence. His voice was unusually terse but Lothíriel wrote it off to his discomfort.

"I know, but I will just have to be in trouble; it is not good hospitality to let our guests suffer when it is in our power to help them," Lothíriel said, moving from the king's shoulders to his back. "And, you are my betrothed," Lothíriel added quietly. Éomer looked over his shoulder at Lothíriel, his eyes unreadable. Lothíriel only continued her ministrations in silence. Éomer flinched when she rubbed the cool ointment on the middle of his back. In spite of her tension, Lothíriel had to suppress a smile when she heard Éomer sigh as she spread the cool ointment on his skin. As Lothíriel finished rubbing the ointment onto Éomer's back, he turned and placed his hands on Lothíriel's arms. Lothíriel stilled and she could not stop the goose bumps that rose at his touch.

"Lothíriel, I,"

"I have done all that you cannot reach; make sure you let the ointment dry before you finish dressing. You will have to put on more tonight before you sleep," Lothíriel rambled, suddenly feeling trapped by Éomer's touch.

"Lothíriel, you do not need to fear me," Éomer said, seeing the strange tension vibrating through the Princess. His words brought Lothíriel's eyes to his and she looked at him questioningly. For once, Éomer felt at a loss for words. With their betrothal being agreed to in writing but not in word, he felt his footing was unstable as water with the Princess. One thing he did know though was that he wished her not to fear him.

"I am sorry, it is just that… that," Lothíriel stopped talking as Éomer gently pressed his fingers to her lips.

"We must speak with your father; today if we can manage it. I have been lax in pursuing your father in this matter, and it is my fault that there is this uncertainty between us," Éomer looked down at the Princess, surprised that she still held his gaze. Without thinking, he placed a kiss upon Lothíriel's brow.

"You can trust I am a man of my word," Éomer dropped his hands, taking the small crock from Lothíriel's hands.

"Thank you," He said quietly. Lothíriel only nodded, walking slowly to the door and into the hall, where Huan was waiting patiently. Lothíriel walked away from Éomer's door, slightly in a daze, and she did not notice Huan's small warning bark as he turned and looked behind her.

"I am glad I was not the only one who noticed Éomer had taken his fair share of the Sun," a slightly amused voice spoke behind Lothíriel. The princess nearly jumped from fright, whirling around to meet the eyes of Aragorn and Arwen. The royal couple each had bemused smiles on their faces and Lothíriel felt her face redden.

"I apologize if I've offended your sensibilities, my lord and lady. With his fairer complexion, I was concerned that he would sicken if not taken care of," Lothíriel said hastily, wringing her hands in front of her. Huan felt her nerves and nudged her hands with his long nose, stilling Lothíriel's nervous movement.

"We are not offended, young one," Arwen said, her serene voice amused. "Sometimes the warriors are the last to take care of themselves and need others to do it for them," the elf queen cast a glance up at her husband with these words and then smiled at Lothíriel.

"Tell me, what did you do to ease his pain?" Aragorn asked, his healer's curiosity piqued.

"I gave him an ointment made out of a dessert plant of Harad; I forget its name but it's a plant with long spear-like fronds. Father always buys the ointment from the merchants whenever they pass through Dol Amroth," Lothíriel spoke quickly, her voice relieved. But a movement behind Aragorn and Arwen drew Lothíriel's attention and her relief vanished. Aragorn glanced behind himself when he noticed Lothíriel's expression and had to suppress a smile.

"Well, my lady wife and I should be going; we will see you during your father's tour," Aragorn said, holding out his arm to Arwen then walking away down the hall. Lothíriel though, stood rooted in place.

"Your previous boldness seems to have worn off, Princess," Éomer walked up to Lothíriel, his usual charm back in place. "May I escort you to breakfast?" Éomer held out his arm to Lothíriel, a charming, if not a little mischievous smile on his face. Lothíriel took his arm gently, making sure not to hold too tightly for fear of aggravating his sun burn.

"Thank you, again," Éomer said quietly, smiling down at Lothíriel.

"You are welcome; it did not occur to me to warn you about the sun yesterday and I only thought of you after my maid accidentally brushed the back of my neck," Lothíriel said, training her eyes forward. Éomer quickly looked below Lothíriel's braided bun on the back of her head, seeing that her neck was a little red but not nearly as bad as his.

"Well, I am still grateful and thank you for your help," Éomer smiled down at Lothíriel, winking at her when their eyes met. Though her cheeks were still pink from yesterday's sun, Éomer could still see the blush that bloomed on her face.

The pair walked in silence until they came to the great hall. Lothíriel would have groaned if it had been polite. Obviously, her father had invited all his lords and several of their wives to accompany the tour and they all looked at Lothíriel upon Éomer's arm with an almost ravenous interest.

"Aunt Lothi!" a small voice yelled from the crowd and all eyes darted away from Lothíriel to the child running at her knees. Lothíriel knelt and grabbed the child up in a bear-hug, lifting the young one off his feet. The child giggled and laughed and tangled his small fingers in the fine hair at the back of Lothíriel's neck.

"How are you, my little Alphros?" Lothíriel beamed at her nephew, kissing his sweet face. The little boy's blue eyes crinkled as he gave his aunt a silly smile and Lothíriel ruffled his downy blonde hair. Alphros had taken his mother's coloring but Lothíriel didn't mind, for her whole family bore the dark hair and olive skin common to her father's line.

"I've been a good boy for mama, like you told me. She's been extra sleepy and dada says I shouldn't be naughty,"

"Is that so?" Lothíriel said, looking past the three-year-old straight into the eyes of Alarwen, his mother. Alarwen sent Lothíriel a calm smile that gave nothing away, though Lothíriel was suspicious of the twinkle in her sister in law's eyes.

"Who is that?" the small boy asked, pointing at Éomer who still stood at Lothíriel's side. Lothíriel gently lowered the toddler's hand.

"It is not polite to point, Alphros," Then, turning to Éomer, Lothíriel looked up and smiled. "This is king Éomer of Rohan,"

Éomer smiled as the little child looked at him with large blue eyes then turned and whispered something to his aunt. With a nod, Lothíriel sat the child down, patting down an unruly tuft of hair at the top of his head.

"I am going to practice my bow," Alphros announced, bowing with as much grace as a child could, then sending a questioning glance over his shoulder at his mother and aunt. The lad's mother nodded and gave Alphros an encouraging smile and the boy turned and gave an impish grin to Éomer.

"Mother and aunt Lothi say that it is nice to bow when you meet a king," Alphros offered, surprising Éomer with his precocious words.

"You did a fine job and I am glad to meet you, young Alphros," Éomer said, causing the boy to shuffle his feet and smile shyly. Then, the little boy looked over his shoulder and was off like a shot.

"Legless! Saerdada!" the child yelled excitedly, dashing into the arms of the elven Prince and then leaping from him into the arms of Legolas' dour, green-eyed kinsman.

"Things are never dull when Alphros is around," Lothíriel's voice floated up next to Éomer. The Horselord looked at the princess, seeing the love she held for Alphros shining in her eyes. A small smile turned up the corner of Lothíriel's mouth as she watched Elphir enter the scene and try to extricate his son from elven arms. Legolas' dour kinsman whispered something in Alphros' ear as the child began to fuss and Alphros' face fell a little but he surrendered to his father's care without any more struggle. Éomer could not help but chuckle at the crestfallen expression on the boy's face and Lothíriel looked up at the king.

"He reminds me of myself somewhat when I was a child. Uncle used to say that not even the Mearas could pull me away once I had set my mind to do something. And often it was when I was disobeying my parents when that expression was applied," Éomer said in answer to Lothíriel's questioning gaze. The Princess smiled then, her heart fluttering a little with Éomer's shared story. She was sure Éomer's story was something he would tell anyone but remembering their encounter just minutes earlier, Lothíriel's heart refused to listen to her head and it continued to flutter. But then, one of the older nobles' wives came over and Lothíriel's heart sank. This particular noble-lady was a notorious gossip and Lothíriel was sure she was searching for a juicy tidbit to spread amongst the court. And Lothíriel and Éomer certainly had a trifle worth a hefty sum in the market of gossip. That thought alone had Lothíriel wringing her hands before the woman spoke.

"My lord king Éomer and Princess Lothíriel! What a fine day it is, what with the storm last night," the noble-woman said with an ingratiating smile. Lothíriel returned the gesture but her smile was stunted because of her nerves. Éomer merely looked at the woman with a steely gaze, his jaw tense. The woman shrank back some but instead turned her full attention to Lothíriel. Knowing she was expected to answer the woman's question, Lothíriel spoke quickly.

"Yes indeed, I watched the storm come in last night and I am glad it came. The heat yesterday was unbearable,"

"Unbearable indeed," The noblewoman concurred, fanning herself with a small lace fan. "Speaking of unbearable, the worst sort of rumors have been spreading about the court that you are involved with a certain king," the noblewoman's eyes flicked to Éomer for a moment. "And that you are planning to elope. I am only seeking the truth so that I can set those gossipers straight," The noblewoman opened her eyes wide, in an attempt to look innocent and her tone was self-righteous. Lothíriel's heart sank, for the rumor was too close to truth outside of their supposed elopement. When Lothíriel looked up at Éomer though, she was alarmed to see the dangerous look in his eyes.

"Do you know what happens to tale-bearers in the Mark?" Éomer asked his eyes intense and his hand resting upon his sword. The noble-woman looked at Éomer, her expression wilting in his gaze. She opened her mouth to speak but Éomer spoke over her.

"If tale-bearers cause enough harm with their words, they are charged restitution for every lie they have told, and if their debt is great enough and their words criminal, they are given the choice to either be forever a slave to their victim's family, or to have their tongues cut out. I think it would be best if you passed this on to whoever is spreading these rumors," Éomer said, ending his words with a dangerous smile. The expression was frightening to Lothíriel but when she looked at the noblewoman, she had to turn a sudden giggle into a cough. The woman looked at Éomer as if he was going to cut her tongue out himself and her hands fluttered nervously at her throat. The heavy makeup she used to conceal the signs of age stood out upon her suddenly pale face like a clown's mask and Lothíriel felt a small twinge of sympathy for the woman; but not enough to offer her placating words.

"Would you walk with me, Princess?" Éomer asked, holding his arm out to Lothíriel. She took his arm, not wanting to refuse him while he still wore the dangerous smile upon his face. Then without another word, Éomer led Lothíriel out of the Grand hall. As they walked past the table set with food, Lothíriel hastily snatched a small loaf of sweet bread and a citrus fruit with her free hand. Huan as well trotted after the pair, stealthily snatching a meat pie off the breakfast table as he passed by.

Éomer's long strides did not slow until he entered the stables and Lothíriel walked with the man in silence, wondering why he brought her along. Hopefully not just to be witness to his anger but Lothíriel did not fault him that emotion. She had grown used to the gossipers of the court and though it still ruffled her, she was more resigned to her fate. Lothíriel was not ready when Éomer suddenly stopped and she bounced against his side before he let her arm go.

"Are there many rumors about us?" Éomer asked, his voice resigned but not angry as Lothíriel had anticipated.

"Only a few. Amrothos has done a fine job in silencing most of the wagging tongues out there. He seems to think it is his personal mission to protect my virtue. It really doesn't bother me much anymore," Lothíriel said, hoping to placate the king.

"All the more reason to speak to your father and have us announced," Éomer said, his voice still low and his expression still slightly dark. On impulse, Lothíriel placed her hand on Éomer's arm. She offered him a smile and Éomer's stern façade cracked and he let out a deep breath.

"I wonder if that noble-woman's husband had to send for the healers by the look of her face," Éomer said, chuckling some.

"I saw the elven healer there; I'm sure if she had fainted, she would have been taken care of," Lothíriel said, tearing the loaf of sweet bread in half and offering it to Éomer. The king looked surprised but he took the bread, an expression of chagrin in his eyes.

"I would always rather eat outside anyways; especially on mornings like these," Lothíriel smiled up at the king, reading the apology in his expression. When he took his half of Lothíriel's bread, the pair walked deeper into the stables

The stables were certainly the busiest Lothíriel had seen in some time as Grooms scurried about, readying the horses that Imrahil's company would ride upon. But for the busy bustle in the stables, Lothíriel found it to be a much more peaceful place than inside the palace. And for once, she did not feel the crippling butterflies in her stomach with Éomer so close.

"Your father has good horse-flesh; where does he acquire all his steeds?" Éomer asked, as Lothíriel stopped next to a stable that held a mare and her young foal.

"Before the war, my father traded horses with your people and grew his stock from their seed. But in the years just before the war, he bought Silvermane from a merchant of Harad and has been growing our stock from him," Lothíriel said, her tone slightly business-like save for the enraptured expression on her face as she petted the velvety nose of the foal. A movement at the princess' feet drew Éomer's attention and he could not stop the superstitious curse jumping to his lips. A black cat rubbed against Lothíriel's legs, and the princess stooped and picked up the cat without a thought. When she turned, Lothíriel could not help but laugh at the horrified expression on Éomer's face.

"Certainly the king of Rohan does not believe in superstitions?" Lothíriel asked, still laughing. Éomer's face suddenly became stormy and Lothíriel could not control her mirth.

"Look, she is not all black," Lothíriel said, holding up the cat's back paw to show one white toe. Éomer still looked doubtful but Lothíriel let the cat go, still laughing.

"I do not believe in superstitions," Éomer blurted defensively.

"Really? Then why did I hear you call upon Béma and curse the dark spirits to the Void?" Lothíriel smiled at Éomer in an irksome manner that reminded the king of Lothíriel's older brother Amrothos.

"You are certainly strange, Princess, and are becoming increasingly bold," Éomer said, dodging the issue entirely. His words though, immediately wiped Lothíriel's smile from her face and she stood up a little straighter.

"If I've offended you, I do apologize," Lothíriel's expression was contrite and Éomer immediately regretted his words. The stark contrast of Lothíriel now to herself mere moments ago was slightly startling to the king.

"No you have not offended me," Éomer said quickly, "and yes, you heard correctly; some superstitions are hard to let go," Éomer said, quieter this time, hoping there was no one around to hear his admission other than the princess. Lothíriel's answering smile was tentative but the coolness in her demeanor was gone.

"I was going to saddle Firefoot; if you wish, you may come along," Éomer offered. Lothíriel's eyes lit with an unknown emotion and her smile widened. Éomer took that as her answer and held out his arm again and the princess took it readily.

Firefoot was in a more solitary wing of the stables. He had thrown the place into an uproar when they had first arrived and the grooms had run to Éomer, hastily requesting permission of the king to move his stallion. Éomer had given them permission quickly, knowing well the lusty nature of Firefoot.

When the pair came to the stable of Firefoot, Éomer stopped short, putting his hand on Lothíriel's shoulder.

"Firefoot is skittish around newcomers, though he is a little better around women. I would still have you take caution with him though, until I have his tack upon him," Éomer said, his voice bringing the warhorse's broad head around to look out of the stable. Firefoot whinnied excitedly as Éomer entered the stall, giving the stallion hearty pats as he ran his hands over Firefoot's legs and body. Lothíriel watched from a safe distance, more than once noticing how relaxed Éomer looked; as he worked, some of the lines of worry faded from his face. When Éomer looked up to see that Lothíriel was intently watching him, he winked at her and she looked away quickly. Lothíriel studiously kept her gaze away from the king then, noticing that the king's tack was stored in the stable next to Firefoot. She walked over to investigate, drawing a curious snort from Firefoot as she walked past the opening of his stall.

The king's saddle sat on a rack and Lothíriel walked to it, reaching out and touching the worn but strong leather. Even for the obvious wear, the workmanship of the saddle astounded Lothíriel and she ran her hands over the embossed leather, tracing the outlines of horses and charging soldiers. As Lothíriel ran her hands over the swirling shapes in the leather, her hand stopped on an animal figure that was curious to her. She leaned closer to see that it was a great lion; its teeth were bared and its claws were out, attacking some unseen foe.

"I am not called the 'Lion of Rohan' for nothing," Éomer's said, right next to Lothíriel. The princess stood quickly, bumping into the king. She hastily stepped out of his way, feeling the familiar blush creeping up her throat. She wrung her hands self-consciously, watching Éomer pick up the heavy saddle with ease and walk back around to place it upon Firefoot's back. Lothíriel watched in fascination as Éomer fastened each strap and buckle with efficient movements, cinching the saddle strap tight. Then when all was to his liking, Éomer bridled Firefoot. For the stallion's fiery nature, Lothíriel was amazed at the obedience and calm the horse exuded as Éomer set his tack. Lothíriel had never seen a horse submit to its master so well in this manner and she leaned against the stall partition, watching with rapt attention. When Éomer was done, he stood in silence for a moment, noticing that Lothíriel still stared at Firefoot intently.

"I have never seen a horse behave so well. Silvermane always fights the bridle and bit," Lothíriel said, still studying Firefoot.

"I raised Firefoot from a foal; our relationship is much like yours to your hound," Éomer said, nodding in the direction of Huan; the great hound sat outside the stall, watching Firefoot with lazy disinterest.

"Hounds and horses do have some of the same temperaments," Lothíriel said, looking between Huan and Firefoot and having to smile for the only thing they had in common was the steely-grey color of their coats.

"Some of my riders should be here soon; they would like to meet you," Éomer said, leading Firefoot out of the stall and waiting until Lothíriel walked next to him. As Lothíriel walked past Firefoot, she again noticed the lion embossed in Éomer's saddle.

"Why a lion? Why not an animal of the plains like your Great wolves or even one of the Mearas?" Lothíriel blurted. She looked at Éomer curiously, only realizing how abrupt her question was when the man laughed a little.

"I have asked that question of myself many times," Éomer said, "The Mearas are sacred to our people and I would not wish to be called by their name even if I were the purest of heart. As for the epithet, I did not choose it myself. One of the old warriors upon my uncle's council had journeyed to the lands of Harad when he was a young man. Some years after Éowyn and I had taken refuge in Edoras, the old warrior likened me to a young lion he had seen in the eastern lands. He said that my fire and anger were all-consuming and he feared what I would become when I was full grown. The name was more of a warning, really; I had forgotten it until Éothain started calling me by it when I became a Marshall. My men took it to be a name of victory but to me, it is ever a warning," Éomer paused and his gaze became far away, but then a slightly roguish smile crossed his face. "As for Wolves, Théodred was more likened to one," Éomer's smile widened at some secret memory though he did not elaborate. "That tale is for another day, Princess," Éomer smiled at Lothíriel, giving her a wink before they entered the main stables.

"There you are! I was wondering if you had forgotten us, suffering outside the city," A hearty voice boomed from the center of the stables. Lothíriel looked up into the merry eyes of a man of Rohan. He seemed to be the same age as Éomer, though his hair was a darker shade of gold with a tint of red. His hazel eyes crinkled at the corners and Lothíriel found herself smiling though she did not know the man.

"You know I would have come to you soon enough; I have been surprised not to hear any reports of you all ravaging the town," Éomer answered with like tone. The merry rider laughed and slapped Éomer upon the shoulder, causing the king to flinch. The rider seemed not to notice but Lothíriel touched Éomer's arm gently and offered him an apologetic smile. Éomer looked at Lothíriel quickly and smiled, though he rolled his shoulders gingerly. The rider, though, was still talking and missed Lothíriel and Éomer's exchange.

"If it wasn't for Elfhelm, I'm sure we would have burned this place to the ground already. On accident, of course," The merry rider said, fixing a twinkling eye on Lothíriel. "Elfhelm will have to scold you for not introducing your lady to me though," The rider then bowed low, taking Lothíriel's hand and brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "Éothain, at your service m'lady," Éothain then straightened up, winking broadly at Lothíriel. The princess nearly rolled her eyes at Éothain, having been greeted in such a manner by many of Imrahil's Swan Knights. But instead, she smiled demurely at Éothain.

"A pleasure to meet you, sir Éothain; I am Lothíriel, Imrahil's daughter and Princess of Dol Amroth," At Lothíriel's words, Éothain's eyes widened and he waggled his eyebrows at the princess.

"So you're _that_ princess; I'm sorry to say that the wine and mead had caught up to me the night of Éowyn's wedding and I do not remember seeing you, though I did _hear_ about you," Éothain waggled his eyebrows again.

"That's enough, Friend," Éomer said, placing a heavy hand upon Éothain's shoulder. The rider fell silent but his look was not repentant. "You will have to forgive Éothain's antics; he has no woman back home to keep his eyes from wandering and his tongue from wagging," Éomer said, turning to Lothíriel with an apologetic smile.

"You should meet my brother Amrothos, Éothain. I have a feeling you two would get along well," Lothíriel said, laughing. As if he had been called by Lothíriel's mention of him, Amrothos' voice rang through the stables.

"Lothíriel! There you are!"

The tone of Amrothos' voice was harried and Lothíriel wondered if something bad had happened. Lothíriel looked at her brother questioningly as he stomped toward her. When he neared, Amrothos must have assumed Lothíriel knew what he was upset about for he began speaking as soon as he was within speaking distance.

"Why, of all days do you decide to not be the polite Princess that I know you can be? What was so special about today, Hmm? Did you wake up and decide you were tired of peace and quiet and wanted to try your hand at some mischief? You could have at least had the presence of mind to not threaten the wife of one of the council members. I mean really, cutting out their tongues and making them slaves for life? I'm not particularly fond of any of the old bats but really, have you lost your mind?" Amrothos' face became red as he ranted and Lothíriel merely watched her brother, waiting to speak until he was finished.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" Amrothos looked at Lothíriel, his gaze as stern as he could manage.

"Amrothos, I did not say those things," Lothíriel said, her glance flicking for a moment to Éomer. The king was trying to look dour but Lothíriel saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Amrothos though, threw his hands into the air.

"Well the grand hall was all abuzz by the time I got there and one of the old biddies had nearly fainted on the floor. Apparently, you do not like gossips and you threatened the woman,"

"I did nothing of the sort, though it sounds like whoever said those words hit the nail precisely on the head. Perhaps the gossips will think twice before spreading rumors, don't you think, lord Éomer?" Lothíriel cast a glance back at the king her expression serious but her eyes were full of laughter.

"Um, yes, indeed," Éomer replied, turning his sudden chuckle into a cough. Amrothos missed the exchange between the king and his sister and speared Lothíriel with a look.

"Fine, if you won't confess, your fate is upon your own head. You know how lady Veweth is," Amrothos turned away from Lothíriel then, nearly running into Éothain. The rider was unperturbed and he smiled jovially.

"It seems your society is a little stiffer here than back in the Mark," Éothain said, jutting his hand out to Amrothos. "Éothain, at your service,"

"Amrothos," The prince replied, shaking the rider's hand. Éothain grinned at Amrothos and elbowed the prince good-naturedly.

"It seems this day has started out quite well, don't you think?"

* * *

Legolas found it very hard to not to roll his eyes, as he observed the scene before him. A noblewoman was leaning against her husband, sobbing with a hand to her forehead. She was indeed pale, Legolas noticed, but there were no tears in her eyes and every so often, she would cast a quick glance around the hall to see who was watching. Legolas had many good friends of the human race but he was often confused by the child-like behavior exhibited by many adults. And this time, the behavior was verging upon pathetic.

"Husband, you must take me out of here at once! I will not be near that horrid princess and her mangy cur,"

"Whatever are you talking about?" The husband asked, baffled and a bit embarrassed by his sobbing wife.

"That Princess threatened me and said she would cut my tongue out and force me to a life of slavery!" the woman nearly screeched, adding more sobs at the end of her words. The husband's expression was mortified now and he almost looked like he was pushing his wife away.

"Calm down dear, that does not sound like the Princess; perhaps you misheard her?"

"Calm down! How can you just stand there when someone threatens your wife? It is a good thing Imrahil's wife is dead, for she would certainly be shamed to death by her horrid daughter today! I…"

"That is enough!" Legolas stepped forward, unable to take the woman's words anymore. "I think it would be wise, if you go home and take this day to rest. It seems that you are vexed to your limit," Legolas smiled benignly at the nobleman and his wife, though his eyes were sharp. The wife looked as if she would speak again but her husband took her arm and left without another word. The grand hall was silent until Imrahil appeared. Legolas smiled at the prince, hoping the man had not heard the noblewoman's ugly words. Imrahil had apparently not heard the brief but dramatic confrontation but his eyes followed the retreating couple curiously.

"His lady wife was not feeling herself," Legolas offered as Imrahil walked next to him. The man nodded in understanding though his eyes were curious.

"I will have to send a servant to them later and see if they are faring well," Imrahil said, to no one in particular but then his face burst into a smile when Alphros called his name.

"Papa!" The little boy launched himself at Imrahil and the man picked up Alphros and tossed him into the air. Alphros giggled in delight and those in the hall smiled at the sight. Legolas inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, thanking Ilúvatar for the sometimes timely distractions of children.

* * *

Lothíriel had to stifle a yawn as the party yet again stopped to see a sight and hear Imrahil's explanation. Normally, Lothíriel liked riding through the city with her father but with the added number of kings and nobles, the tour was going at a maddeningly slow pace. Lothíriel was just thankful that the last night's storm had taken much of the oppressive heat out of the air.

As it was, she was one of the few ladies who had decided to come upon the tour. Éowyn, of course did not turn the tour down and neither did Queen Arwen. But those two ladies rode next to their husbands, leaving Lothíriel to ride between Amrothos and Erchirion most of the time. Once in a while, one of the older, single lords would try to ride next to Lothíriel and start a conversation but were soon carefully ushered away by one of her brothers. Lothíriel did not know why exactly they did this but she wondered if the surreptitious glances from the king of Rohan had anything to do with her brother's behavior. Éomer had tried to have Lothíriel ride next to him, but as the company had set out, he had been pulled to the front to ride between Elfhelm and his fellow king, Aragorn.

Lothíriel raised her eyes from the back of her horse's head, stifling a bored sigh. As if on cue, Éomer looked over his shoulder; his eyes met Lothíriel's for a moment, then he signaled one his riders. It was Éothain, Lothíriel saw, who rode up between Éomer and Elfhelm and the jolly rider listened to Éomer for a moment, then nodded his head and pulled out of the column. As Lothíriel and her brothers came abreast of him, Éothain smiled broadly.

"Princess, my lord Éomer has requested that you ride next to him, if you so desire," Éothain said, his jolly voice only reaching Lothíriel and her brother's ears. The rider smiled again broadly and Lothíriel cast a quick glance at her brothers. Erchirion shrugged and Amrothos sighed resignedly.

"Go on. I doubt we would've stopped you anyways," Amrothos said, pulling his horse up and allowing Lothíriel to pass. She guided her gelding to follow Éothain, taking the sudden empty place next to Éomer. Small butterflies fluttered in her stomach, but since the events of the morning, Lothíriel felt she understood the Horselord a little better. In light of that, Lothíriel decided to speak first.

"How have you liked my father's land?" Lothíriel looked at the king, her eyes glancing slightly behind the man to see Éowyn lean towards Faramir and whisper something to him. Faramir rolled his eyes in a very unlordly way and Éowyn shot Lothíriel a mischievous smile.

"They have been conniving since we first arrived," Éomer said in a low voice, glancing behind himself as well. Éowyn's look sobered when she noticed Éomer's scrutiny and Lothíriel could almost imagine Éowyn sticking her tongue out at her brother's dour expression.

"Since their wedding would be a more accurate time, I think," Lothíriel said, a quick memory of Éomer's kiss flitting through her mind. When Lothíriel looked at Éomer, he had a small smile on his face and there was a strange fire in his eyes.

"Yes, I think you are right," Éomer said quietly, his smile broadening some. Lothíriel was suddenly at a loss for words. She rode in silence for a few moments, thankful that her father stopped to explain how Dol Amroth's aqueduct worked. It was something Lothíriel knew about so she listened half-heartedly. She studied those around her, noticing how Faramir stifled a yawn or how Éothain was whispering something to Elfhelm and smiling. But one thing that truly caught her attention was how Éomer would roll his shoulders from time to time and how he wiped the light perspiration from his temple. A plan formed in Lothíriel's mind and she was thankful that they were nearly back to the palace. She fidgeted until her father was done speaking and took a deep breath before she spoke.

"Father?"

Imrahil turned in his saddle, smiling inquiringly at his daughter.

"I was wondering if I could show king Éomer and his riders the hunt kennels," Then Lothíriel looked to Éomer. "They have hunting hounds in then Mark, do they not, my lord?"

"Yes we do though not as much as in days past," Éomer said, his expression slightly confused.

"I think that would be fine, if his majesty is agreeable to it?" Imrahil said, seemingly unaware of Lothíriel's ulterior motives. Éomer only nodded his assent and Lothíriel smiled.

"I will see you back at the palace then, father," Lothíriel pulled her horse to the side of the column, and Éomer and his riders followed suit. As Amrothos passed, he shot Lothíriel a strange look to which she smiled back demurely. When the final riders of the column had passed, Lothíriel turned toward the palace. Éomer rode up next to her though remained silent as Lothíriel led them on. It was some minutes before they came to the road that Lothíriel was looking for and she turned down the quiet path with a sigh. The road was shaded by ancient citrus trees and Lothíriel loved the sharp smell of their leaves and seeing the small, young fruits peeking out from beneath their branches.

"This road leads through the old grove. These trees are centuries old; I believe they were planted before my grandfather's time, for Aunt Ivriniel tells of wandering through this place when she was a child and the trees were as knarled and rough as they are now," Lothíriel said, brushing her hand along a branch that hung into the path. She looked at Éomer and smiled, seeing that he was still a little skeptical of this side-trip. But he smiled back and Lothíriel felt her heart flutter.

"The kennels are not far now," Lothíriel said, hearing the deep baying of one of the hounds ahead of them.

In a short amount of time, Éomer noticed that the ancient trees were thinning around them. Ahead of them, a clearing opened in the trees revealing a long, rectangular, two-storied building of grey stone. Save for the center of the building, where a double door stood open, the bottom of the building was lined with concentric openings shorter than a normal door. The second story was nondescript, except that its windows were wide and all their shutters were flung open.

As soon as they rode into the clearing, a cacophony of deep baying erupted. Lothíriel pulled up her horse and dismounted, leading him along with a smile. Éomer dismounted as well, muttering a few words in rohirric when Firefoot snorted nervously. As if she had passed a prescribed point, the face of a hound appeared in almost every small opening. But these were not the type of hounds Éomer was used to seeing. They were even different from the hound Huan that belonged to Lothíriel. As Lothíriel got closer, several of the hounds emerged from their homes. Their bodies were stocky and strong with deep chests, though their shoulders looked to only come to Lothíriel's hip. Their heads were broad and their noses short, dropping into deep jowls and their necks were like a thick collar of skin. Every hound that ventured out was a varying shade of mahogany red and golden brown. All the hounds sent a cursory look at Lothíriel as she advanced and barked past her at Éomer, Elfhelm, and Éothain.

"Béma," Éothain muttered, "Those beasts look as they could tear a man's throat out,"

"Aye," Éomer agreed, keeping a wary eye on the hound closest to him. A quick look to Elfhelm showed that the older man was not as awed by the dogs as Éothain was but instead wore a thoughtful look on his face. Lothíriel's voice though, drew Éomer's eyes away from Elfhelm.

"Harma! Are you here?" Lothíriel yelled, her voice barely carrying above the noise. A moment passed, where the barking of the hounds seemed to increase and then two men walked from the open double doors. Éomer's warrior eyes flicked from one figure to the next, weighing them in the balance.

The first man was tall and thin with long limbs wrapped in hard sinew. The only evidence of the man's age was the steel grey of his hair and beard and the deep creases that lined his sun-browned face. The second man though, gave Éomer pause and he did not like what he saw. The second man was much younger than the first, and his shoulders were broad and his arms were thick with muscle. He stood a hairsbreadth shorter that the older man but that did not diminish the power of his physique. The younger man's hair was black and thick and hung in a heavy braid down his back. His eyes were a perceptive shade of brown and there was no beard upon his face, evidencing his youth. Looking at the young man, Éomer saw a glimmer of conceit in the young man's eyes and he knew why; the young man's cheek bones were high and his jawline strong. It was a combination that you would have to be blind to ignore and the young man knew it. The combination of the thick muscle wrapping his frame, and the younger man's looks had Éomer instantly on edge and he did not miss the cat-like readiness in his posture that Éomer guessed could turn dangerous in the blink of an eye.

The younger man's perceptive brown eyes flashed toward Éomer and hardness entered them for a moment. But what truly caused Éomer's concern was the way the younger man looked at Lothíriel: All too familiarly and slightly possessive of the Princess.

"Princess, it is good to see you. You haven't been here in a while. Nauro was beginning to think you had forgotten him," the grey-haired man, whom Éomer guessed was Harma, spoke. He smiled at Lothíriel and Éomer saw that one of his teeth was made of gold. Holding out his arms, Harma hugged Lothíriel quickly.

"Well, I have told Nauro many times that he should not keep his hopes up," Lothíriel replied a strange expression flashing across her face as the younger man hugged her; Lothíriel's body became stiff, though the young man seemed unaware of the Princess' discomfort. Before he let Lothíriel go, Nauro shot Éomer a dark glance over the princess' shoulder. Nauro's hands lingered for a moment too long upon Lothíriel's shoulders and Éomer could not stop the sudden surge of jealousy in him. True, he and Lothíriel were still trying to find their footing with each other, but she was his betrothed whether Nauro knew it or not. Éomer's hand dropped to the hilt of his sword and he was about to call the younger man out when Lothíriel spoke.

"Harma, Nauro, may I introduce, Éomer king of Rohan, and Elfhelm and Éothain," Lothíriel spoke, inching surreptitiously away from Nauro.

"My lord, welcome to our humble home. You may walk wherever you wish, though I would take the Princess wherever you go, for the hounds have a respect for her that is uncanny. Otherwise, you may be looking at them from a more prostrate position," Harma added, laughing at his own joke. Nauro did not laugh though a dark smirk crossed his face as his eyes continually flicked between Éomer and Lothíriel. Lothíriel seemed unaware of the tension between Éomer and Nauro and she turned with a smile to Éomer.

"Come, I want to show you the puppies!" Lothíriel said, a child-like sparkle entering her eyes. For a moment, Éomer thought Lothíriel would take his hand but then Nauro was at Lothíriel's elbow.

"You will not believe how they have grown; Father even kept the names you gave them," Nauro took Lothíriel's arm, pulling her away from Éomer. She cast a helpless look over her shoulder and Éomer had to stifle a growl.

"That one knows what he's about," Éothain said quietly in Rohirric. Éomer looked at his rider, wondering if Éothain's dangerous expression mirrored his own.

"He does indeed," Éomer growled, his hand falling back to his sword.

"We best catch up with the rascal then," Éothain said, a little louder this time. After a quick glance at Elfhelm, who was conversing animatedly with Harma, Éomer nodded at Éothain in agreement. Both the men's long legs caught them up quickly with Nauro and Lothíriel and they kept close to the pair. Nauro was talking animatedly as they passed the kennels of certain hounds but Lothíriel was only nodding at the man's words. Éomer noted, with satisfaction, that Lothíriel seemed less thrilled with Nauro than he was of her. She had managed to free her arm from Nauro's grasp and her expression was decidedly cool. But then, they walked through a door into a room lit with warm sunlight and Lothíriel's face broke into a smile.

One of the mahogany hounds, her teats heavy with milk, trotted up to Lothíriel and licked her hand. Several pups scampered after their mother, tousling with one another and causing happy havoc in their wake. When they saw Lothíriel, they jumped against her legs with happy barks. Éomer chuckled when he noticed the color of the puppies; all the pups were a mottle of grey and mahogany. And their fur was slightly longer than the close coat of their mother; there was no question to whom had sired this litter.

"They are wonderful!" Lothíriel said, sinking to her knees onto the fresh straw upon the floor. The puppies pounced upon Lothíriel making her laugh with pure joy. There was something infectious about the joyful romping of the puppies and Éomer stooped down and picked one up, Nauro momentarily forgotten. The whelp licked at Éomer's face and he chuckled.

"These pups are going to be giants," Éomer said, looking at the puppy's over-large paws.

"I'm not sure Huan knew what he was getting into," Lothíriel laughed, standing with two pups in her arms. She handed one to Éothain, who smiled at her and stroked the puppy's silky ears with a surprising tenderness.

"I don't think any man is sure of what he is getting into when a woman is involved; especially a woman they can only hope to grasp," Éothain said, casting a sharp glance at Nauro. The younger man bristled and Éothain smiled benignly at Nauro, knowing his words struck a nerve in the man. But Nauro's gaze was quickly drawn back to Lothíriel, who was still holding one of the puppies and talking in approving tones to the puppies' dam.

"You are such a good mama, Posey; I'm glad Huan chose you," Lothíriel glowed, patting the top of Posey's head with her free hand.

"It was my idea, really, to breed Huan with one of our dams," Nauro said quickly, causing him to get a quick look from Lothíriel.

"If I remember right, Harma caught Huan and Posey in the act and you were the one who was supposed to shut her away during her time of heat," Lothíriel frowned at Nauro, whose look had become sharp.

"Be that as it may, I think these pups may end up being better than our hounds now,"

"Well if they have Huan's penchant for robbing the table, we will have a mess on our hands," Lothíriel said, giving Nauro another pointed look. For a moment, Nauro studied Lothíriel, and then his eyes flicked to Éomer then back to the princess.

"If you need anything else, _Lothi,_ you know where to find me," Nauro then brushed past Éomer and Éothain, and walked quickly out of the whelping room. Éothain shot Éomer a look that spoke volumes but when Éomer looked at Lothíriel he was surprised to see sadness in her eyes.

"Nauro's mother died shortly after my mother did. He and I were friends when we were younger," Lothíriel spoke, falling into an abrupt silence. Éothain looked uncomfortably at Éomer, still holding the puppy Lothíriel had given him. The awkward silence lasted only for a moment, for Éomer immediately decided that he would not let Nauro's discourtesy color the rest of the afternoon.

"Do you know how your hounds hunt?" Éomer asked his voice kinder than what a normal question warranted. Lothíriel looked at him and smiled.

"I have been on a few hunts with my brothers but I am not as good a marksman as they would like. The hounds flush out game and if we are hunting wild boar, they will bait the boar until the hunters catch up with them," Lothíriel said, placing the puppy in her hands next to its mother. "Would you like to see the rest of the pack?" Lothíriel's smile was suddenly back in its place and Éomer smiled with her. As they left the room, Éomer offered his arm to Lothíriel and she took it without hesitation.

* * *

"She is not yours, son," Harma said, as soon as the four riders disappeared into the old grove.

"She is not the Horselord's either," Nauro replied, his tone petulant. Harma turned and faced his son, his gaze stern. He could already see the anger growing in Nauro's eyes and knew that his time for reprimand was limited.

"You will never win a woman by throwing yourself at her, and you will most certainly drive her away by goading other men needlessly," Harma's gaze flicked to where the Princess and the men of Rohan had just disappeared. "I would not cross the King of Rohan if you promised me the whole of the western kingdom," Harma's voice became grave as he remembered the gleam he had seen in the king's eyes when Nauro had embraced Lothíriel.

"He is just a man," Nauro muttered. He stalked back into the kennels, taking a leather harness to his work table. He stabbed an awl through the leather angrily, nicking his thumb. He let out a curse as he brought his injured thumb to his mouth.

"I should box your ears for that type of speech," Harma said gruffly, suddenly at Nauro's side. "The hounds need to be fed; I will see to this," Harma took the leather harness from Nauro's hand, sending his son a sharp look. Nauro relinquished the harness to his father but not without his own dagger-like look. Harma watched in silence as Nauro stomped away, sighing when he was sure his son was out of earshot.

They had both lucked out of going to war when the darkness had arisen in the east. Harma had suffered an injury in his younger years that made him unfit for battle, and at the time, Nauro was too young. Though he looked like a man of greater than twenty years, Nauro was only nineteen summers and his temperament showed as much. Harma had married later in life though his young wife had died closely after Prince Imrahil's lady wife had passed. Nauro had taken it hard and had acted out his grief in violence. Nauro was two years younger than the Princess and as young children, they had struck up a friendship during their times of loss. Lothíriel had been the only one that Nauro did not react to in violence, so Harma had been thankful that their friendship existed. Lothíriel as well, had seemed to take comfort from Nauro's friendship, and being around the steady nature of the hounds Harma raised for Imrahil. Nauro and Lothíriel had remained close as young playmates, until Lothíriel began to blossom into a young lady. She had slowly withdrawn from Nauro, as the responsibilities of a princess called for more and more of her time. Nauro had not understood the change in Lothíriel and began to act out again. Harma vividly remembered the night he had come home to a destroyed house and Nauro, sitting in the midst of the mess.

_"__She will not have me," Nauro said, his voice alarmingly bleak._

_"__Who, son?" Harma asked quietly, knowing the answer before Nauro spoke. _

_"__Lothi, father! She will not have me; her actions made it more than clear!" Nauro yelled, springing to his feet. At fifteen, he was already as tall as Harma, and his frame showed the beginnings of hard muscle that would soon outmatch the muscle that wrapped around Harma's own bones. _

_"__Nauro, calm down," Harma placed a hand upon his son's shoulder, guiding him toward a chair that still sat upright in the mess. Nauro sat with a surprising lack of resistance and Harma leveled a kind gaze at his son. _

_"__Did you tell her how you felt?" Harma asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Nauro looked at him with frantic eyes. _

_"__No! I was up at the palace, picking up the meat scraps for the hounds and I saw her talking with one of the Swan Knights," _

_"__That doesn't sound like a refusal to me, son," Harma said, his voice still calm. Nauro though, bristled and Harma steeled himself for another outburst. _

_"__He was flirting with her father and he could barely keep his eyes from the bosom of her dress! She was blushing and laughed at his words. What woman would…" _

_"__Enough," Harma held up a hand, stopping his son's words. "Lothíriel is nearly eighteen and soon the suitors will call on her. You know how the Princess reacts to complements and undue attention, so it should not surprise you that she blushed. Did you not stop to consider that maybe she was uncomfortable with the man's advances? Do you think maybe that she still being young does not realize how a man thinks? I would not be so hasty to pin the blame on Lothíriel yet," _

_Nauro fell silent at Harma's words and rose without a sound and began to put the room back to rights. _

The memory was so vivid in Harma's mind that it felt like it had happened yesterday, though four years had now passed. Something had changed in Nauro that night, but Harma was unsure what had changed and he was not sure it was for the better.

"I am going into town," Nauro's sullen voice reached Harma's ears. Harma had been so lost in his musings that the time it took for Nauro to feed and care for all the hounds had flown by quickly. Harma turned from his work, fixing an astute eye upon his son.

"Will you be able to find your way home?"

"I am not a child," Nauro muttered under his breath, turning from his father without another glance.

* * *

The evening meal had been a rather informal affair, and Lothíriel had enjoyed her time next to Éomer more than the evenings before. She and Legolas had conversed across the table about their day and the different things they had seen and Éomer had joined heartily in the conversation. Elfhelm had returned to the Rohirrim's camp to see to its running, but Éothain had stayed with his liege-lord and a place for him had been set at the table. The jolly rider had found a friend in Amrothos and Erchirion and the three were talking and laughing together as if they had known each other their whole lives.

"I hear you were impressed by the hounds, Éomer," Legolas said across the table, also having been awed by the hounds when he had first seen them.

"Yes, they are quite impressive," Éomer answered, remembering the dark looks Nauro had given them as they had left. Harma had shown off some of the older hound's skills when they had left the whelping room. All the while, Nauro had stood upon the fringe, watching them all with ill-disguised distaste.

"How are Harma and Nauro?" Legolas asked, not missing the strained expression that crossed both Éomer and Lothíriel's faces. The spontaneous symmetry of Lothíriel and Éomer's expressions had the elf wondering what had transpired at the kennels. Before he had time to ask though, Lothíriel spoke.

"Harma and Nauro are doing well. Harma has a way with the hounds and he knows how to propagate strong bloodlines. He is an asset to my father's lands," Lothíriel looked down at her hands for a moment, and then she looked up with a smile. "Next week begins the summer festival and there are sporting tournaments planned. It's my favorite time of year,"

"Indeed, your father did mention on our travel here that it was nearly festival time. My men will be happy for some frivolity before we return home. What type of contests are planned?" Éomer looked at Lothíriel, smiling.

"Well there's always an archery tournament and swimming races down at the bay. And Wrestling tournaments too. We rarely have tournaments of swordplay, for the festival is a celebration of the absence of war," Lothíriel paused, as if lost in thought but then she smiled again. "Amrothos always competes in the swimming competition and usually wins. Elphir and Erchirion are the wrestlers in our family and are quite good,"

"I have done some wrestling in my time," Éomer said, not one to pass up a friendly competition.

"Aye, it seems this festival will be a time to look forward to," Legolas said, noticing the smile that passed between Lothíriel and Éomer.

* * *

A/N: This chapter was quite long but I found no way to shorten it without cutting off something important that I didn't want to leave until next time. And we got to meet some new characters too! And good heavens, there was even an indirect mention of some doggy "alone time"... ... ... but anyways, I do hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I hope I piqued your curiosity as to what comes next. :) Thank you all for your Reads, Reviews, Favorites, and Follows!

**The Moonlilly- I certainly hope you are in better health by now! I had fun writing the storm scene and I'm glad I achieved the effect I wanted. Sometimes as a writer you wonder if what's in your head translates the way you want it to in print. But with all odds against us, you're bound to hit a home run once in a while. But I digress... I hope you enjoyed this latest update and thank you for your review!**

**Katosade- Thanks for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the previous chapter and I hope you enjoy this one as well!**

**Almythea- Thank you so much for your kind words! I hope that you are still able to say you love my story as it progresses. And, as much as we all love Eomer and Lothiriel's "alone times," I would be remiss to jump right to their wedding... as much a temptation as that is. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

The commotion of the tavern did little to distract Nauro from his obsessive thoughts. His mind burned with the memory of the shy smiles and winks Lothíriel and the king of Rohan had shared when they visited the hunt kennels earlier that day. Nauro had heard about the Rohirric king's antics at the wedding of the Steward earlier in the year and he did not see much worth in the man, king or not. It rankled him to his core that Lothíriel seemed to be infatuated with the man. He was probably given to over drinking and would soon become paunchy and fat in his old age, for he looked, Nauro reasoned, to be several years Lothíriel's senior. And what beauty did Lothíriel see in the Rohirric kings appearance, for his hands and forearms were crisscrossed in scars and the exotic gold of his hair looked like it would fade into a meaningless grey as the years passed.

"She is mine. She always has been," Nauro muttered, taking a long drink that emptied his tankard. He knew he would barely be able to stagger home in his current state but Nauro was not planning on facing his father anytime soon. His father was far more perceptive than what he let on and Nauro figured that Harma knew of his son's infatuation with the princess. And Nauro knew his father would not approve.

Nauro reached to the collar of his shirt, pulling out the ornament he wore around his neck. It was the head of a hound crafted in silver; it had been a gift for his eighteenth birthday from Lothíriel. As he did almost every day, Nauro thought about the Princess. He had been surprised to see her and was more surprised that she had embraced him given her aloofness these past years. But Nauro did not mind. He could still smell the sweet fragrance of her hair, still feel the silkiness of her skin as her cheek brushed his own; still feel the softness of her curves beneath his hands… Someone in the tavern dropped a glass, and the shattering noise jolted Nauro out of his steamy thoughts.

_She will love me; she needs only the chance._

So lost was he in his morose thoughts that Nauro barely looked up when another figure sat down across from him. A new tankard of ale edged into his vision, causing him to look up curiously. When he looked up, his dark eyes met those very similar to his own but edged with dark kohl. A woman sat across from him, a half smile on her face. Her skin was a dark tan and her hair was a silken black mass of waves that fell past her shoulders. She wore a blousy linen shirt under a strange leather corselet; Nauro could see an ample amount of cleavage through the neckline of the stranger's shirt and he looked up at her with hard eyes.

"I have no use for a woman of the night, so you can take your ale and leave," Nauro pushed the tankard away from himself, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms across his chest. But the ale that he had consumed earlier took away some of his conviction and Nauro's eyes drifted back towards the collar of the woman's shirt.

"I would have guessed that your mother taught you better," The woman finally spoke, placing her elbows upon the table. In her henna-swirled hands, she held a dagger, causing Nauro to look up quickly.

"My mother has been dead over ten years," Nauro said, feeling the familiar bitterness well in his chest.

"I am grieved to hear it, for I was a friend of your mother's,"

Nauro looked up quickly at the woman, studying her more closely. He finally saw the minute wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and how the shadows highlighted the lines of her mouth. She shifted in her seat some, and Nauro noticed the sparkle of a few grey hairs upon the woman's temple.

"Yes, I do not look as one as old as I am, but it does have its advantages," The woman's smile was cat-like and she leaned over some, allowing the neck of her shirt to gape a little more. Nauro's eyes flicked to the neck of her shirt and back to her eyes, his expression dark.

"My mother was not a woman who walked the streets and you have done nothing to convince me that you are not of that ilk so I tell you again: take your drink and leave,"

"I knew that Gondorian stupidity would pass to you," The woman muttered, suddenly stabbing her dagger into the center of the table. "Your mother; was she not of Umbar, before the war?"

"Yes, but that is all I know of her past. My father saved her from a corsair raid and then they were married. That is all," Nauro's mood was becoming darker by the minute; the woman across from him seemed to sense his mood and softened her tone.

"As delightful a story as that is, it is not true. The Swan of Dol Amroth may as well be a carrion bird from the east for all its attested morality,"

"What are you talking about?" Nauro narrowed his eyes at the woman, feeling unsettled but drawn to her words all the same.

"If you wish to know more, meet me back here tomorrow night," The woman got up to leave, pulling her dagger out of the table-top. "And tomorrow, Nauro, be sober," With those words, the woman turned, disappearing into the crowded tavern.

* * *

Lothíriel was up early the next day. Something had woken her in the early hours of the morning and she had not been able to regain her rest. She had lain in bed for some time, before getting up and getting ready for the day. She had not the patience to plait her hair as Fingwen liked to, so she merely tied her dark hair back with a ribbon at the nape of her neck. The dress she chose was neither plain nor overly extravagant, so it suited Lothíriel's mood well. She had whispered to Huan to keep silent, and then left her room before the sun was up.

She padded through the silent halls on bare feet, carrying her slippers in her hands until she escaped the upper halls. She came to the palace gardens quickly and wandered aimlessly through the plants and shrubs until she came to her favorite place. It was a stone bench that looked out across the sea; she sat down in silence and Huan lay upon her feet. The hound yawned, having not fully woken up and closed his eyes as he dozed again. Lothíriel looked out to the sea, letting her eyes rest upon the horizon. The early morning was calm and the deep baying of one of Harma's hounds floated to Lothíriel's ears. That sound brought the events of yesterday to mind and Lothíriel frowned. She remembered the way Nauro studied Éomer and it bothered Lothíriel greatly.

Lothíriel remembered the day that she first befriended Nauro. Imrahil had taken her with him to check on the Hunt master and see how he was faring. Lothíriel's mother had only been in the grave a few months when Nauro's mother had fallen ill and died. Later in life, Lothíriel realized that her father had visited Harma and Nauro more to offer them comfort than to speak of business matters. Nauro had been a wild-eyed youngster and had shied away from Imrahil when he spoke to him. But for Lothíriel, she had seen the same shadow in Nauro's eyes that she saw in her own. She had reached out to the younger boy and they had instantly become friends. Lothíriel had spent many summer days in the hunt kennels, playing with Nauro and helping Harma with the hounds. It eventually had been Harma's influence that drove Lothíriel to love animals the way she did and she had taken great pride in the knowledge she had gained from Nauro's father. But when their teenage years came, Lothíriel and Nauro became distant. It was never Lothíriel's intention to sever her friendship with Nauro but when she had started to blossom into a young lady, it seemed that a whole new set of rules were applied to her life. With the war brewing and the growing Shadow in the East, Lothíriel had to grow up quickly for her father and older brothers were often in Minas Tirith or on patrols of the coast and their southern borders. Nauro had taken the change in their relationship with difficulty, but in Lothíriel's inexperience, she saw no way around the responsibilities that now faced her as Princess. Nauro would visit her but came to the palace less and less. On one of his visits, Lothíriel had tried to explain the change but Nauro seemed not to understand and had left with angry tears in his eyes. Nauro had always taken small things to heart, making more out of them than what they really meant and that time was no different. But then, the letters had started, and Nauro obviously saw more in their dying relationship than Lothíriel did. He hinted at a deeper affection for her but Lothíriel had not taken him seriously until the day of his eighteenth birthday. That memory came to Lothíriel's mind, making her stomach feel as if it were tied in knots.

Upon Nauro's eighteenth birthday, Lothíriel had ridden to the hunt kennels alone, hoping to drop a present for Nauro with his father and be on her way. She had not seen Nauro for a long while but she was not overly anxious to see him again, for his latest letter had been ardent in nature and Lothíriel did not know what to make of it. Nauro was a handsome young man but Lothíriel had always thought of him as a brother. Several of the maids in the palace liked to daydream about him though Lothíriel found the notion uncomfortable at best. The shadow of the death of Nauro's mother had never really left him and as he aged, Lothíriel had seen how that had affected his heart. His speech could be harsh and cold-hearted and coupled with his infatuation for her made Lothíriel wary when she did see Nauro. But for all the wariness in Lothíriel's heart, she could not bring herself to forget Nauro upon his coming of age.

Lothíriel sat rigid on the bench, beginning to shake as she remembered that morning.

_"__Good morning Princess. What brings you here this early?" Harma's tanned face split into a smile and his golden tooth glinted in the sun. Lothíriel smiled and held out a small, wrapped, bundle. _

_"__I came to give Nauro a gift, for his birthday," _

_"__Well, you can give it to him in person if you would like. One of the dams whelped last night and Nauro is with them. He will be glad to see you. I'm off to town for some supplies," Harma said, waving in the direction of the whelping room as he walked down the lane with an empty sack on his shoulder._

_Lothíriel waivered for a moment as she watched Harma go, but the prospect of seeing the new puppies had her feet moving before she knew it. When she came to the half-door of the whelping room, she saw Nauro asleep in the fresh hay. A strange feeling of uncertainty washed over her and for a moment, Lothíriel almost turned away. But she heard the quiet mewling of the new puppies and her curiosity won over her trepidation. She opened the door as silently as she could and crept toward Nauro. She placed his gift on the floor next to him holding her breath when he stirred in his sleep. When she was sure Nauro would not wake, Lothíriel crept to the edge of a whelping box, leaning over and inspecting the kennel's newest arrivals. The dam lifted her head to give Lothíriel a cursory glance but dropped it down again as she lay in exhausted peace. With a smile, Lothíriel stood upright, and turned to leave. _

_"__You will not even speak to me on my birthday?" Nauro's voice called to Lothíriel and she stopped with her hand upon the door-latch. She turned slowly, fixing a smile upon her face. _

_"__I did not wish to wake you; Harma said you had been up all night," Lothíriel still smiled, keeping her hand upon the door. Nauro had stood to his full height and sauntered towards Lothíriel with a strange expression on his face. Lothíriel had seen that expression on the faces of some of Amrothos' friends and she felt the blood leave her face. The look in Nauro's eyes was one of raw hunger. _

_"__Nauro, I must go. Father needs me and I…" _

_Lothíriel's words became cut off as Nauro grasped her shoulders and pulled her forward, slamming his mouth upon her own. Lothíriel struggled against Nauro's hold, unable to push him away as he tried to claim her mouth. On his breath was the stale taste of ale and something stronger. _

_Suddenly, Nauro began to pull at the laces of Lothíriel's gown and she thrashed against his hold though could not get free. But the more she struggled, the more forceful Nauro became. Utter panic rose in Lothíriel's chest as Nauro took hold of her wrists and pinned her hands above her head. For a moment, Nauro pulled back and Lothíriel gasped for breath, still fighting against his hold. _

_"__Lie with me, Lothi… I love you," Nauro whispered, his words still slurred. _

_"__No! Let me go!" Lothíriel yelled. "Someone…help!"_

_"__Do not fight me Lothi, I… I love you," Nauro whispered, bringing a hand to Lothíriel's cheek. Lothíriel flinched away from Nauro's touch as he ran his hands down the neckline of her now gaping gown. _

_ "__Let me go," Lothíriel pled, feeling tears sting her eyes. Nauro gave the barest shake of his head and began to kiss Lothíriel again, this time insistently and hungrily. Her hands were still pinned above her head and Lothíriel felt her tears spill over her cheeks. But then, as Nauro's hand slid past her waist, a miracle happened. _

_The dam that had just whelped had arisen from her puppies with a ferocious growl and launched herself at Nauro, grabbing his calf in her powerful jaws. Nauro screamed in pain, finally letting go of Lothíriel to try and free himself from the hound's jaws. Lothíriel had seen her chance and had fled from the kennels, riding away as fast as she could. _

Lothíriel had not visited the hunt kennels for a long time after that. She never told anyone what had happened that morning for she could not think of that day without a paralyzing fear. She had had many nightmares for weeks afterwards, and though Nauro had not fully succeeded to ravish her, it was of little comfort to Lothíriel. With her father and brothers gone with the war, Lothíriel had had no one to tell of her tale and she had shut her fears away, only praying that Nauro would stay away from her. Who Nauro was now was not the boy she had befriended and any thought of the man brought with it an inkling of fear. Lothíriel had hoped that Nauro would not be at the kennels the day before but he had been. She had not meant to let him embrace her either but with all the other men around, Lothíriel had felt she had no choice for fear of the truth escaping. She did not know what Harma knew of Nauro's infatuation with her and utter shame filled her when she thought of him finding out about Nauro's attack.

"It is quite an early hour to be up pondering the woes of the world,"

Lothíriel jumped and turned quickly to see that Legolas stood at the opposite end of the bench. Sometimes, the light-footedness of elves was not a trait Lothíriel admired of the fair race.

"I could not sleep," Lothíriel blurted, feeling her face heat. Legolas smiled, sitting down without an invitation.

"Sometimes I envy the sleep of men, for it gives them respite from the noise of the world,"

Lothíriel had no response for the elf and she offered him a weak smile, her mind still on her memories of Nauro.

"You are troubled, Princess," Legolas said, his words a statement rather than a question. He turned his blue eyes away from the ocean horizon and studied Lothíriel. His gaze was so astute but so kind that the words tumbled out of Lothíriel's mouth.

"It is Nauro; He… well," Lothíriel paused unsure of how to put her words together. After taking a deep breath, Lothíriel began again.

"Nauro has professed to love me and I do not return his feelings; not at all," Lothíriel said, clenching her fists together in her lap to cease their shaking. "Yesterday was the first time I had seen him in a long while and he seems to still feel the same way. The man Nauro is now is not the boy who I once befriended. He has never really recovered from his mother's death and as he aged, his sorrow turned to bitter anger. He is always angry," Lothíriel rambled, looking over at Legolas and watching him nod as his face became thoughtful.

Legolas' thoughts were less calm than what his countenance implied and his mind turned Lothíriel's words over and over again, looking at them from every angle. He sensed that there was more to the Princess' story than she let on and Legolas instantly felt protective. Though he was of the First born, he was still male and knew how the male mind often functioned. He did not doubt that Nauro had made some sort of advance upon Lothíriel. Watching the way the Princess' hands shook and the way her words had spilled out in a nervous rush only gave Legolas' suspicion more weight.

"Nauro has not hurt you, has he?" Legolas asked, careful to keep the alarm out of his voice.

"No. no, he just… he kissed me and touched me in a way that was too familiar. Nothing more," Lothíriel said, knowing that Nauro's attack had been more than an attempted kiss. Legolas studied the Princess' face, seeing fear flash through her eyes. He had seen too many young women ruined by selfish men in his lifetime and the Princess' expression was a mirror of many that he had seen before. But Legolas knew he would not get the truth out of Lothíriel if he pressed her now.

Taking a deep breath, Legolas sat back; Lothíriel did not need his anger now. She needed his counsel. Thinking back, Legolas thought of when he had first met Harma and Nauro. He had met the men when he brought elves to Ithilien to rejuvenate the land. Harma, Nauro, and several other hunters had used the hounds Harma bred to clear the land of any twisted animals that had fled Mordor after its fall. The hunters had spent several months with the elves and Legolas had gotten to know Harma quite well and he respected the man and his knowledge. But Nauro had always been distant and Legolas had never been able to crack the shell of the young man's reserve. And there was something about the young man that Legolas could not quite put his finger on, though some of his kin had described the young man's presence as always being followed by a shadow. That was certainly not enough to condemn a man, for Legolas knew many that carried the shadow of past hurts with them and he had wondered if the young man was merely experiencing the morose times that often plagued human youth. But the flash of fear in Lothíriel's eyes gave credence to a worse darkness in Nauro's soul and Legolas felt unease settle on him.

With a sigh, Legolas turned back to Lothíriel. He was silent for a moment longer then Legolas fixed his gaze upon Lothíriel's sea-grey eyes. "I have also glimpsed the shadow that Nauro carries. You are doing well not to be near him, even though he was your friend in years past," Legolas said, offering Lothíriel a small smile. At his words, some of the tension left Lothíriel's posture, though after a moment, Lothíriel fidgeted and Legolas looked over at her again.

"I am sorry to burden you with my silly worries," Lothíriel was again wringing her hands and Legolas reached over and gently stilled her movements.

"I was the one who asked to hear your thoughts; my only wish is to help," Legolas leaned back again and Lothíriel gave him a small smile. The Elf Prince smiled back, but deep in his mind, he felt the shadow of unease begin to grow.

* * *

"I did not think you had lowered yourself to snooping on Princesses," Éothain's jolly voice jolted Éomer away from the edge of the balcony and he clapped his hand over his rider's mouth. Éothain though, seemed unaffected by Éomer's violent reaction and his smiling eyes spoke volumes. Éomer pushed the man away, growling in frustration. He cast one last look over the balcony, seeing Lothíriel curled up on a stone bench, Huan lying below her.

"So, it is true that you like the girl," Éothain smiled. "I was wondering if old Elfhelm's speech about producing an heir had gotten through your thick skull,"

"I would hate to have to tell your dear mother that you did not return home from this journey," Éomer said, stomping away from Éothain.

"Bah! You know my older brothers are her favorites; I'm just the young whelp that won't settle down with a maid and bear her grandchildren," Éothain spoke with a laugh, both men knowing that he spoke the opposite of the truth. Éothain was the favorite of his family, though he had no wife or children. It was puzzling to Éomer as to why that was but for now, he did not want to figure out the strange workings of Éothain's family. Having the rider around was confounding enough most days.

"Why is it that when Uncle appointed me as king, the whole of Arda is now interested in and is allowed to commentate on whom I find appealing?" Éomer asked, picking up the ceramic crock that Lothíriel had given him the day before. He scooped out what was left of the ointment, slathering it upon the sorest parts of his burned torso.

"So you find her appealing? That's better than just interested," Éothain waggled his eyebrows at Éomer and the Rohir king almost threw the ceramic crock in his hands at the man. Éothain's eyes seized upon the crock, noticing the flowers painted onto the ceramic surface.

"What's that?" Éothain asked, swiping the crock out of Éomer's hands. Éomer rolled his eyes, still waiting for the ointment to dry so he could fully dress.

"It is an ointment," Éomer said tersely, not wanting to explain the origins of the flowery crock. Éothain shrugged and began to toss the crock away when Éomer plucked the item out of his hands. Éothain shot Éomer another glance but this time remained silent.

"If you are ready for the day, you do not have to wait for me; I've had one mother in life already and you are doing a poor job comparatively," Éomer shoved Éothain to the door, opening the portal and pushing the baffled rider into the hall. When he closed the door, Éomer locked it, hoping to have a few moments of peace before breakfast. He was going to find Imrahil and speak to him today at any costs and Éothain's ribbing was not helping Éomer's sudden nerves. He paced his room for a moment, stopping once again to gaze over the balcony. Lothíriel was still sleeping upon the bench. Taking a deep breath, Éomer pulled a tunic over his head, cast a passing glance upon his reflection in the mirror upon the wall then exited his room.

When He entered the hall, Éomer was glad that the passage was empty. Obviously locking his door had sent Éothain away. Though the rider was a close friend, Éomer felt he would punch the man if he had to put up with the continual ribbing.

Éomer walked quickly through the halls, thankful again that he did not meet anyone on his way. As he passed the feast hall, happy chatter and laughter floated from the doorway. Éomer cast a quick glance inside; his eyes met those of Éowyn's and she was about to call out to him so he quickened his pace. He needed at least a minute of peace to talk to Lothíriel.

When Éomer stepped into the main garden, he walked the gravel paths on quick feet. When he walked around the bend of a small curve he stopped short, nearly running into someone in the path. When he pulled back, his eyes met those of an elf. The Elf's green eyes narrowed some and Éomer took another step back.

"I beg your pardon; have you seen the princess Lothíriel?" Éomer asked, looking around the elf.

"Legolas told me that no one is to disturb the princess," The elf said, crossing his arms over his chest. Éomer studied the dour elf for a moment, his ire sparking some at the elf's impassive mask of a face. If he remembered correctly, this elf's name was Saerdartha, and he was kin to Legolas.

"Saerdartha, please, you must let me pass; I have urgent dealings with the Princess and I must speak to her at once," Éomer asked, stuffing down his growing frustration. Saerdartha leveled his keen forest green eyes at Éomer, his face still impassive. Éomer held the elf's gaze; Saerdartha eyes were sharp and Éomer had the sudden feeling that the elf was sifting through his thoughts. It was an unsettling feeling and Éomer felt his frustration growing.

"Saerdartha? Éomer?" Lothíriel's voice floated from behind the elf, causing him to look away from Éomer and turn to face the Princess.

"Is all well, Princess?" Saerdartha asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

"I am fine," Lothíriel said, covering her mouth when a sudden yawn came over her.

"Then I will be on my way," Saerdartha said. He then bowed, and walked away in silence, leveling a stern stare at Éomer as he passed. Éomer watched the elf's silent retreat, puzzled and a little frustrated at the odd exchange that had just happened.

"He is a strange being," Lothíriel said, suddenly at Éomer's elbow. Éomer looked down at Lothíriel; his words seemed to stick in his throat when he took in her sleep softened face and slightly rumpled hair. The effect made Éomer want to stare at Lothíriel all day but it also reminded him why he sought her out.

"Lothíriel, we must speak to your father. Today," Éomer said, taking one of Lothíriel's hands. Lothíriel's face had lost some of its rosiness but she nodded her head in agreement.

"Father will be in his study," Lothíriel said quietly. "I know a back way there that will keep us away from the others," Lothíriel added, taking a more firm grip of Éomer's hand and leading him through the winding paths of the garden. They came to a wall of the castle covered by a flowering vine; Éomer looked up the wall, seeing only windows and balconies above him. The rustle of leaves though, drew his attention downwards. Lothíriel had gently moved some vines away, revealing a low door.

"This way," Lothíriel said, ducking behind the leaves with Huan on her heels. Éomer followed the princess, ducking into the dim passage. When inside, Éomer stood carefully, feeling the top of his head brush the ceiling of the small passage. It was dark as night when the door closed behind him but Lothíriel's soft hand grasped his own and led Éomer through the passage. The passage was not long though, and soon, Lothíriel had stopped. There was a rattle of a latch and then a crack of light appeared in front of Éomer. He could see Lothíriel's silhouette as she carefully peeked out the door. Then she took his hand again and led Éomer out. As Éomer's eyes adjusted, he saw that they had exited into one of the main hallways of the palace. When he looked back, he saw that a large tapestry hung against the wall, completely hiding the small door and passage beyond.

"How many of those are there?" Éomer asked, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

"There are a few more, though I won't tell you where they are until a later time," Lothíriel said, a small smile coming to her lips. Éomer's curiosity was suddenly piqued though he knew the Princess would not tell him until she wanted to.

"We should hurry," Lothíriel said, taking Éomer's hand again. Éomer was surprised at the sudden ease at which Lothíriel took his hand, but something had been different in her expression when she saw him that morning.

They walked quickly through the halls and up several stairs until they came to a wide door. Lothíriel finally dropped Éomer's hand, stepping back and looking at him.

"You should be first," Lothíriel nearly whispered. The princess' face was suddenly pale and Éomer saw a glimmer of fear in her eyes. The vulnerability in Lothíriel's expression cut through Éomer like a knife; he stepped closer and placed a hand upon Lothíriel's shoulder. The princess' eyes never wavered from his and Éomer felt the sudden enormity of what he and Lothíriel were about to do.

"If you cannot bear the thought, I will tell your father you refused. I will not force you into this," Éomer said, the sudden tightness in his throat making it hard to speak. Lothíriel's eyes widened and she took Éomer's hand.

"I promised you I would; I will not go back on my word,"

"Very well," Éomer gave Lothíriel one last look, then rapped his fist against the carved wood of the door.

"Enter," Imrahil's muffled voice floated through the closed door and Éomer opened it slowly. As he entered, he took Lothíriel's hand gently, drawing her close. Huan padded behind the pair, walking past them and curling up in a patch of sun too small for his large body. Imrahil watched Éomer and Lothíriel with serious eyes, seemingly unsurprised at their appearance.

"Prince Imrahil," Éomer began, his voice respectful. "Your daughter and I have come to discuss our betrothal,"

The room fell silent save for the sound of Huan's deep breathing as he lounged upon the floor. Imrahil studied the young couple before him, his expression inscrutable. Éomer suddenly felt like a small child in Imrahil's assessing gaze and he resisted the urge to shift his feet in nervousness. The silence was beginning to feel oppressive when Imrahil suddenly sighed and dropped his gaze.

"Let me send for the witnesses,"

* * *

Imrahil walked into his chamber late that night, not bothering to light the small oil lamp upon his bedside table. The light of the moon shone through the archway of the balcony of his chamber and the silver light illuminated his room like the light of day. He was thankful that his ancestors had built the palace of Dol Amroth in an almost luminescent white stone, for it was always bright, even on the darkest nights.

Walking to a small cabinet, Imrahil opened it and took out a small glass cup and a glass bottle of bright liquid. It was a special wine made from the vineyards of Dol Amroth many years before even he was born, and Imrahil only drank the bottle's precious contents on special occasions. Tonight though, Imrahil drank the wine to soothe away the sudden sadness of his soul. The day had been spent in his study, arranging the betrothal and dowry of his only daughter. Thinking of the day's events again sent a sharp stab of sorrow through Imrahil's chest and he walked out to the balcony, taking a deep breath of the fresh night air. He took a sip of wine, swirling the liquid in his mouth, though not tasting its flavor as his mind returned to thoughts of his daughter.

Lothíriel had been stoic throughout the proceedings of the day, though when it came time for her to sign the official betrothal pact, her hand had shaken so badly that Imrahil feared Lothíriel would not be able to write. But then she had taken a deep breath and signed her name with so much conviction, it surprised Imrahil. Lothíriel was timid more often than not, but she always surprised Imrahil with her sudden spurts of boldness. She was much like her mother in that way, and it always brought bittersweet memories to Imrahil's mind.

"Gwelyth, you would be proud of your daughter," Imrahil spoke into the night air. He could almost imagine his wife's smile at his words and the small laugh she would give before she reminded him that Lothíriel was his daughter too. They had had that conversation about their children many times when they were parents of young ones. Imrahil still spoke to Gwelyth often, telling his dear, late wife how much her children had grown and what admirable people they were becoming. He knew that if he told anyone of his silent conversations, he would seem foolish, but Imrahil kept many things in his heart for only the memory of Gwelyth to hear.

Turning back, Imrahil walked to his bed, downing the last swallow of wine before setting the empty glass upon his bedside table. He disrobed in silence, taking his tunic to the cedar paneled closet that kept his clothes. He walked inside the small room, inhaling the sharp scent of the cedar wood. Then, as he did almost every night, he brushed his hand over Gwelyth's favorite cloak. It had not moved from its place since Gwelyth last used the garment. Imrahil could not bear to part with it, for in their young married years, he and Gwelyth had spent many nights under the stars. Gwelyth's cloak as a bed and Imrahil's cloak as a blanket. Even now, Imrahil could still imagine the smell of Gwelyth's perfume: citrus and rose blossoms.

With a sigh, Imrahil left the small closet. Over ten years had passed since Gwelyth died, and all time had done was wash away the incapacitating numbness that came with losing a loved one. The stabbing pain of grief though, kept on, and never fully left Imrahil. Gwelyth had been his one and only love; his confidante and friend. And now he wished she still lived more than ever; their only daughter would no longer be their own.

Imrahil was not a man given to emotion, but this night, he fell asleep with tears upon his face.

* * *

Lothíriel sat once again upon the garden bench, though this time, she had not bothered to go to bed. Her mind was too full of the events of the day, and she could not find it in herself to rest. It was official now: she would be the wife of the king of Rohan. Two witnesses each for the future bride and for the groom had read and signed the betrothal document along with Lothíriel and Éomer's own signatures. Their betrothal would be announced before the people at the beginning of the summer festival only two days away. They would be married within a year.

"You should be sleeping, Lothi,"

Lothíriel looked up, seeing her eldest brother, Elphir standing at the end of the bench. He stepped over Huan's prone form carefully, sitting close to his sister. He looked at his sister with kind eyes; he had seen the fear in her eyes earlier that day. He had been one of her witnesses and had seen how pale she had been as she signed her name to the betrothal pact.

"I cannot say that I understand what you are feeling, for Alarwen and I loved each other long before we married. But what I can tell you is that there is no one better to be the new queen of Rohan,"

Lothíriel swung her gaze to Elphir's, her expression surprised.

"I know you do not believe me now, but trust me; you will be exactly the queen Rohan needs. They need someone who can counter their king's fire with kindness, someone who can empathize with the smallest of needs. Éomer is a great man, and he loves his people but his rough edges have yet to be smoothed. When I look back at myself when I first married Alarwen, I had many rough edges to smooth out. She showed me what it was like to care for someone enough to sacrifice anything for them. I feel you will do the same for Éomer,"

"Really?" Lothíriel asked, having to swallow back the sudden lump in her throat.

"Really," Elphir emphasized, kissing Lothíriel on the cheek. "And, I think Rohan will have its fair share of stray animals that need your care," Elphir added. Lothíriel gave a watery laugh as Huan's ears perked at the sound of a howl in the distance.

* * *

A/N: I apologize for the lag in an update. This is the first time I've been able to devote a goodly amount of time to my writing/editing of this story. These past weeks for me have been a tad stressful and busy. The main reason being a 10 day trip with my In-laws which telling about could be a novel in itself, so I digress...

I know I threw in another new character in the woman at the tavern, but I promise, you will find out more about her in due time!

The section of Imrahil's reflection was inspired by the "Feast of Starlight" from the Hobbit:DoS soundtrack. It created the perfect backdrop for what I hope was a very poignant representation of a father's love for his daughter. If you want, listen to that song while reading that section and hear what I am talking about. :)

This chapter was a little hard for me to write, only because I do not wish to make light of attempted rape and rape in itself. The scene of Nauro assaulting Lothiriel was a hard thing for me to write. Firstly, because I have a close friend who was assaulted by a member of her family in her past and she still has to deal with the repercussions of what was done to her. Secondly, these types of situations make me extremely sad and angry. We live in a twisted world and its effects can be clearly seen throughout. I know there have been far worse "deeds" written in various Tolkien fanfics but I for one wanted people to know where I stand. Why did I even write this then? To show what evils people are capable of and their lasting effects on the innocent parties.

Thank you all for your Reads, Reviews, Favorites, and Follows!

**blackunicorne:** I hope this chapter was worth the wait. It is not as long as the last but I hope you still enjoyed it!

**The Moonlilly: **I'm glad you liked the last chapter. I like Eothain too. I modeled his personality from my own younger brother, who I think, is a fun and great friend. As for Nauro, you can clearly see that he is an unbalanced individual with sociopath leanings. He is quite delusional about what he thinks it will take for Lothiriel to love him. Because he is so delusional, the barriers between common and nobility do not matter to him. If I share any more though, I will start giving things away. ;)

**AA-MamaBirdCat-** Nauro is delusional enough that he may try something against Eomer... but that would be telling. I have always loved animals and was a Veterinary technician for several years before I left the workforce for motherhood. I could not help adding in things that I love because I felt they would add "quiet natural moments" as you said.

**Jenny-Wren28-** I am glad you love my story. I hope you keep enjoying the chapters that come!


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